


Coffee Stained State of Mind

by mikovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Gallavich, M/M, Shameless Big Bang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikovich/pseuds/mikovich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an intense bipolar episode, Ian Gallagher, a coffee loving artist, moved to the Big Apple to go to college to try to get out of his brother Lip’s shadow and into the light of his new life.<br/>Ex-thug turned barista, Mickey Milkovich moved from the Southside to New York with one intention- escape his life ruining father to find love, something he’s always thought of as the thing in the shop window he’d never have.<br/>To find out where he really belongs (Or who he belongs to), Mickey gets some help from Ian’s fan fiction writing roommate, Verona.  Ian, in an attempt to push away his problems, pushes open the door to a downtown coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fan Fictions, Blue Eyes, and Bus Stops

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who helped me with this story; it was honestly the biggest struggle to finish. I wouldn't have been able to do it without my best friend, Kaylee (this one's for you babe). Thank you to coucourfeyrac of tumblr who did the fantastic art for my story! And thank you to the people at Shameless Big Bang and the writers that helped me at the beginning. Everyone is fab. What can I say? You're all kinda a big deal.

“Fuck!” Ian tripped over the array of clothing that littered his floor.

It was ten thirty and his first class of the day had started fifteen minutes ago, hence why he was buzzing around his apartment trying to get ready but only succeeding in putting on a pair of 3 day old jeans and a crumpled 8-ball t-shirt.

He shoved his toothbrush in his mouth and attempted to flatten out his unruly red hair in the mirror- god, if he left his front door looking like that people would definitely mistake him as Ron Weasley. _No, I don’t go to Hogwarts-_ He said in his mind as he tapped his toothbrush out on the sink- _I’m a college student. Thanks._

He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet’s door and took out a little orange bottle, popped two pills in his mouth, then shoved his mouth under the faucet and swallowed. Ian was bipolar, just like his mother, Monica, and yeah, it was hard but as long as he remembered to take his pills every morning then he’d be fine. He just needed some TLC sometimes.

Ian ran out the door of his room, slamming his shoulder on the door frame in the process, before frantically looking for his shoes in the living room. “Fuck, ow, FUCK!”

Ian was on his hands and knees looking under the couch when teal fuzzy slippers came into view.

“They’re on the patio.” Ronnie, his roommate who was also known as Verona, mumbled before throwing herself down on the couch with her laptop. Probably writing her latest- _Sunscreen & Buttsex_ (Well, that’s what Ian called it). After moving in a couple months ago, Ian had slowly figured out that his roommate was a closet fan fiction writer. She was utterly obsessed with two boys from the hit TV show _Chapters_.

“What are Graham and Alex doing today?” Ian asked once he retrieved his shoes and was closing the sliding glass door.

Ronnie didn’t look up from her screen, her long curly hair falling in her face as she typed. “Uh, well Alex just confessed to his father in last chapter’s cliff hanger that he’s gayer than fruit dipped in a rainbow so I’m assuming he gets his ass beat.”

Ian nodded, realizing the she was talking about her other current work- _You’re Back_. “What about Graham? Isn’t he going to save him? I mean, fuck, Alex is always going through tough shit alone. Especially when your big man G- Ram left in your last story!” Ian started to tie the laces of his boots. Calling the lanky fictional character, Graham, G-Ram had always made Ronnie smile.

She was writing a series; she was currently on her 4th installment. She called them seasons because she felt like she was rewriting the show in a different way- “the right way.”

Ronnie pushed her glasses up like a headband and sighed. “Well, Alex didn’t stop him from leaving so he left. And yes, Graham is going to help him- probably knock some bookshelves over during the brawl.” Her face lit up at the idea.

 _Chapters_ was about a boy, Graham Chase, who worked in a library and did a bunch of reckless things with his giant group of siblings. Graham’s gay story line had really gotten the ratings up in the last two years because he’d met a guy named Alex Reynolds. Ian had rolled his eyes when he was forced to watch it every Thursday. Ronnie was pretty sure that in the next season the writers were going to go all out and make it official between the two.

Ronnie’s stories were a hit on the internet though; she took the two characters and did something completely different with them. And if Ian was being honest, he liked her version more. That’s why he secretly read her stories and almost had a panic attack if she didn’t update weekly.

Ian nodded at her as she explained that she couldn’t decide if she was going to have one of them die soon. “Wait! What? Why?” Ian burst out.

She just shrugged. _God, she’s the next J.K. Rowling._

Ian looked up at the clock as he shook his head. Eleven ten. _Shit_.

“Hey, gotta run!” He leaned over the arm of the couch and kissed her on the cheek.

She turned red at the contact. Fuck, her roommate was too sweet for his own good.

Ian grabbed his messenger bag off of the lounge chair in the corner then headed toward the door. “Bye, Ron!” He called over his shoulder.

He went out the door like a hurricane, slamming it behind him.

She let out a breath. When Ian had come for his roommate interview months ago, she had automatically canceled all the appointments after his. He had walked in the door sweating and claiming that he had to run there because his little brother had gotten arrested again so he lost track of time. Sure, she was kind of taken aback by the word ‘arrested’… especially when it was quickly followed by the word ‘again’ but that didn’t matter because he was flushed and breathing hard and just oh so delicious looking. She wanted to lick him like a lollipop.

“Oh and Ronnie?” The front door was open again. Ian leaned his head in with a small smile, his big hands wrapped around the door.

She looked up. Oh how she imagined what those long fingers could do to her.

She bit her lip. “Yeah, Ian?”

“You forgot to update Sunscreen & Buttsex.”

She threw a couch pillow in his direction. He laughed and closed the door before the pillow could hit him.

“It’s Sunscreen & Margaritas.” She grumbled to no one.

***

The smell of coffee that hit his nose was so strong that he swore if he closed his eyes he could imagine he was in a massive coffee bean that had been carved out to be a building- _James and the Giant Peach_ style.

He was so late that he’d decided to go to his favorite coffee shop instead of going to class and getting scolded by his professor for being late for the 3rd time in a week.

Ian practically lives in Java Jim’s and, yes, he does know Jim- the man that was one with the Java. He’d worked here for a few weeks before he got a better paying job at The Strobe as a dancer. During his first manic episode Ian had illegally gotten a job as a dancer at a club called the Fairytale; Lip came to take him home though, practically saved his life. Jim was the type to take in young people much like Ian and try to steer them toward the path of the straight and narrow.

Ian stood in line. Only two people were ahead of him; he looked around and noticed that the place was practically empty, which was strange for a Tuesday morning.

Java Jim’s was drowning in sun light due to the skylight in the ceiling; on the reddish brick walls were chalk drawings that the employees drew on their breaks. Ian’s was still there after all this time. He had climbed a latter to get in the top right corner of the farthest wall to draw a fish bowl-like coffee pot that had a mermaid swimming in it, he made her look like Fiona. It had taken him a week of chalk stained fingers and dust filled lungs to finish, but when he finally had, Jim appeared with a loving smile and clapped him on the back while they looked up at it. Jim told him it was one of the best things he’d seen grace Java’s walls.

Since then he’d come to Java when he was feeling down or was over stressed by the weekly tests he paid the college to take. It was one of the first places Ian had come to get away from his past, from the Southside, from Lip and the rest of his family. He loved being a Gallagher but sometimes he just got sick of having a new problem thrust at him every moment of the day.

His phone buzzed once in his back pocket, signaling that he received a text. He pulled it out as the line in front of him moved forward.

“ ** _Sunscreen & MARGARITAS!!! I’M SO DONE WITH YOU, IAN GALLAGHER._**”

Ian laughed to himself and started to tap out a reply.

A throat cleared in front of him. He looked up and noticed that the other two people had left, leaving a big gap between him and the counter.

He stepped closer to the girl, which he’d worked with previously, at the counter; her ponytail was a mess and she looked seriously ticked that he hadn’t been paying attention. Must’ve been a tough morning at Java Jim’s. “Oh, sorry, Jenny.”

He was about to say that he wanted his usual but then the kitchen door behind the counter burst open.

“Fuck, sorry, Jen. I won’t be late again.” The boy had his head down as he spoke, he was tying his dark green apron around his neck.

 _The guy is a walking yin-yang,_ Ian thought taking in his pale skin and his black hair. _Ding, ding, ding- we’ve found the palest of them all, folks!_

“Jesus, Mickey! It’s your first day!”

When Mickey looked up, Ian took back all the stupid shit he’d just said in his dumb red head. Hell, Ian was pale as fuck too! How could he judge the lack of sun the roughly gorgeous man that stood across the counter from him got?

Clear blue eyes met his; he sucked in a breath. Mickey quickly looked Ian over; just below those beautiful eyes a Cheshire Cat smile spread out.

“I know. I just- god, I just really need this job.” The pale god said to the angry barista, not taking his eyes from Ian.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Take this guy.” She gestured to Ian. “I need a damn smoke.”

Mickey waited for Jenny to exit before he braced his hands on the counter. “What can I get ya, man?”

Ian’s gazed dropped to Mickey’s hands that were flat on the counter top next to the register. He read the words “FUCK U-UP” tattooed on his knuckles; he quickly averted his eyes and spit out his order. The last time he’d seen a crude homemade tattoo like that he was back home in the Southside.

Mickey nodded and grabbed the size cup Ian had told him from the stack of cups below the counter. He grabbed a marker and looked at Ian expectantly.

“Um, your name?”

Ian’s eyes connected with Mickey’s again. “What?”

He dangled the cup between two fingers. “Stupid policy where I have to write your name on the cup.”

“Oh, right.” This guy was clouding up Ian’s mind and making him look like a dumbass who’d never ordered a fucking coffee here before. “Uh, Ian.”

The marker squeaked against the cup and you could tell Mickey had written more than the three letters it took to write Ian.

He then smiled that mischievous smile again. “Well, Uh-Ian,” he mocked. “It’ll be ready in a sec.”

Ian nodded then pretended to play with the Java Jim’s gift card display in front of the register.

When Mickey had his back turned while heating whatever the fuck and mixing whatever the fuck syrup, Ian couldn’t help but stare. Mickey’s tan polo seem at least one size too small against his back muscles that moved every time he raise a coffee pot or a cream canister. Ian bit his lip as he trailed his eyes down the barista’s body, trying to push out of his mind how much he wanted to just bend him over the pastry case and fuck him right then in there.

Mickey peeked over his shoulder at his customer. Hm, he’d never had a thing for redheads before but this guy was giving him all sorts of feelings down below. He figured maybe he just had a thing for Ians.

He chuckled at his thoughts, turning around and placing the cup on the counter making sure the name faced away from the customer.

He handed Mickey the few dollars his coffee was, Ian had this lustful look in his eye that made Mick bite his lip.

He’d moved away from home for this type of thing, he reminded himself. He moved from his childhood home to get away from his homophobic father; so he could finally be free. His mind was suddenly taken over by the sour thoughts of his father and of the beatings that left him battered and bruised for weeks.

As though there was a bruise pressed to his eye, Mickey just took the money and repeated what he’s been saying to himself since since he was thirteen, simply because it had become such an engrained habit. _You’re not some faggot. You’re a Milkovich. You’re not a faggot. You’re NOT. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you, fuck head. You’re not fuckin’ gay._

He sighed, let his face go dead and looked at Ian uninterested as he said his next line in Java Jim’s policy, “thank you, have a Java-tastic day.”

Ian just nodded a thanks to him, seeing the way the barista’s mood changed so suddenly as if his thoughts made his brand new puppy get run over by a Walmart semi. Ian just figured maybe the barista had seen his intent and didn’t roll that way.

A regretful tint showed in Mickey’s eyes at Ian’s retreating back. Mickey watched him go all the way down the street until Ian was out of sight- God, he needed to get laid.

The next customer walked up spouting shit about double pumps before even a hello was spoken; Mickey cursed in his mind at the woman in the pant suit. Rolling his eyes, he thought, for a moment, that maybe he should go back to drug dealing.

***

Ian smiled down at the cup in his hand as he waited for the bus. On the back of his coffee cup, in messy boyish scroll (which Ian had to almost tilt his head to decipher), was the word “Firecrotch.”

Ian shook his head and boarded the bus that rolled up, flashing his student I.D. at the driver. The guy, Mickey, obviously was just poking a joke at his red hair- he probably wasn’t into Ian.

***

The bricks were sending chills to his back through the fabric of his t-shirt as he waited for Ronnie to come through the sea of students from the English building. Before class had concluded, she had leaned over to him, whispering about talking to the professor about what to consider before making a major character death decision.

He could finally see her tank top that read “UP WITH REYASE!” in big bold letters and her cheetah scarf that wrapped around her neck in a ring.

He slung his arm over her shoulder. “You ever gonna get over those characters?” He pulled at the front of her shirt lightly with his free hand.

She hugged against his side. “Never in a million years, kid.”

He chuckled and pulled at one of her curls, “so what’s for dinner tonight?”

It was Tuesday- Ronnie’s night to cook.

“Speaking of dinner,” She pulled away from her secret crush and tilted her head back to look at him. “I have to go to the store for your red ass.” She brought a hand up to mess up his hair and he scrunched his nose at her.

“Whatever. See you at home, Verona.”

Ian made his way to the bus alone then, thinking and fantasizing of blue eyes and the aroma of coffee. He actually hadn’t gotten his arousing barista from this morning out of his mind all day. He stood at the bus stop for a while, checking his phone and making small talk with the other students at the stop, until finally the orange route came- it was the only bus route that had a stop right across the street from his building.

He boarded the empty bus heading straight for the back; as soon as he sat down he pulled a notebook from his bag and began the writing assignment his and Ronnie’s Fiction Writing professor had just given them. The topic was love- he had to write a love story when he knew fuck all about the topic.

He started to write about a boy with eyes as blue and as clear as the ocean of Aruba, whose skin seemed to be stained with the smell of coffee and whose smile was one of a kid who just successfully stole Slim Jim’s from a convenience store. But a girl clung to him, hanging from his arm- Ian imagined- and her hair was long and red, and freckles covered her blush when she looked up at her lov-

“Hey! Look what I got here!”

Ian’s head seemed to lash up so he could make eye contact with the speaker. _Eyes as blue and as clear as the ocean of Aruba_ , he recalled his writing.

“Firecrotch, what’s up man?” Mickey swung down onto the seat beside Ian, using the steel metal pole for momentum.

Ian slammed his journal shut and gave Mickey a nod of hello. He blushed when he realized he was writing himself as a teenage girl that was helplessly in love with some random barista. But his professor _had_ always said “Sometimes it helps to write from experience.”

“What chya writin’ there?” Mickey pondered, his tongue coming out and licking the corner of his mouth.

He did it repeatedly, Ian figured it might be some tick of his.

“Uh, school work.” He opened the flap of his messenger, shoving in the book that held the pages he would shred when he got home.

Mickey leaned back, putting his arm behind Ian- resting it on the back of the bus seat- and spreading out his legs, making himself at home. “Right,” He dragged out the word. “College guy- payin’ for an education ain’t no one care about.”

“Oh?” Ian turned to him in his seat. “And what’re you? Hot barista that leads every customer on then stalks them?”

Mickey put a hand to his chest as his laugh rang through the bus; besides the driver he and Ian were the only ones on the metal, moving billboard.

“That is exactly what I am. You takin’ critical thinkin’ or some shit?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “Actually, not. I just got some serious gay-dar and right now it’s like-” He raised his hand and swept it over the bus, making low ‘boop’ sounds; but when his hand reached over Mickey he got louder. “BOOPBOOPBOOPBOOP!” He put his hand up to his mouth like a walkie-talkie radio- “Paging Major Faggot! We got a live one! Most likely in the closet!”

Mickey shook his head, a smile on his lips. If any other fucker would’ve done that to him he would’ve slammed their face into the metal bus pole. But there was something about Ian that just made him smile.

“Alright, alright! I get it; you’re some jokester.”

Ian leaned back with a smug smile. “Fuck you, I know I’m funny.” He leaned closer to Mickey. “I also know I’m right though.”

Mickey took in the redhead’s features- how he kind of seemed drained, probably from running around campus all day and the all-nighters he’d recently pulled; how his green eyes seemed to dance all over Mickey’s face like he was doing exactly what Mickey was doing in that moment.

“Hey, Ian!” The bus driver called to the back.

The boys were brought out of their stare down. The balding, Spanish man had turned in his seat to look back at them. “It’s your stop, bud.”

Ian looked out the window- the sun was slowly going down and the sky was pink; Miguel was right, they were across the street from his apartment building.

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered, “Everyone know you in this town?” He remembered earlier that day when he asked his co-workers what they knew about their redheaded regular.

Ian stood, shouldering his bag. He walked backwards, with a grin, toward the front of the bus. “What can I say?” Mickey scooted forward in his seat like a string connected him and Ian, pulling him to him as the college student backed up. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

That Cheshire smile spread across Mick’s lips once again that day.

Ian winked then stepped out the of the bus’s doors. Mickey watched him start to venture away from the bus through the window a moment.

“Wait!” Mickey called out. He leaped up and ran, holding onto the thin metal door frame of the bus as he swung his body out, one leg in and one dangling in the air above the concrete. “Aye, Firecrotch!”

Ian turned, squinting to see the far distance Mickey seemed to be from him.

“Come by tomorrow morning! I got some digits to write on your cup!” He called down the street, then stepped back into the bus.

Ian nodded his head, “it’s a date!” Mickey gave him a smile and flipped him off through the bus window.

Ian watched the bus pull away, trying to bite away the giant grin on his face.


	2. Photographs, Fuck offs, and Royal Hot Chocolate

Ian checked his mail box before heading up to his and Verona’s apartment for his usual monthly package from Debs.

Right before he had left for university Debbie had had a boyfriend that was a photography whiz kid; he even carried around a bag of lenses with him everywhere. All of the Gallaghers had figured that Debbie was only pretending to be into cameras and long useless conversations about film development so the kid would stick around. But months after the kid was long gone Deb was still taking pictures with the hand-me-down camera Lip had gotten her as a present when she’d first met the guy.

Ian took the thick, yellow package that was addressed to one Prince Ian Gallagher- he chuckled at Debbie’s dorkiness- from his box and headed up the stairs.

Now, because of the distance, Deb would take pictures of the family or just of things around the Southside she thought he’d like to see, developed them, wrote a small story about the picture on the back and sent them at the end of every month.

He dropped his bag onto his desk then launched himself onto his bed from feet away, landing back first and bouncing slightly due to force.

He unwrapped the stack of photos laughing at the one on top- Fiona yelling at Carl in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear. He flipped it over- _Dumbass thought he could sneak in at 4 AM without Fiona noticing. Yeah right._

The next picture was of Lip and a girl sitting on Ian’s old bed; they were cuddled up with their backs to the wall. _Lip’s new girlfriend, Mandy, is pretty great. She’s likes to sit on your bed and look at your drawings. Says she can’t wait to meet you._ He flipped it back over and observed the couple; she had Ian’s blanket pulled over her body and covering her mouth as she laughed into the fabric. Her eyes were bright and blue and she looked utterly thrilled that Lip was leaning in and laughing into her neck with his arm lazily draped over her shoulders.

Ian closed his eyes and leaned his head into his pillows- he tried to get the feel of being back home; he could smell the blanket that Lip’s girlfriend had burrito-ed herself into. It smelled like late night talks with Lip; it smelled like joints and cheap beer.

The front door slammed shut.

He walked out to the kitchen and sat on the counter top; Verona walked in and placed her grocery bags next to his thigh.

“Oh, Debbie’s package came?” She started to take out tomatoes. “Lemme get a gander at Phillip!”

He faked worry. “Oh gosh, I don’t know if you’re ready, Ronnie.”

She rolled her eyes, “I’m always ready for some Lip Gallagher ogling!”

He shook his head, holding the picture of Lip and his girlfriend to his chest. “No. It’s different this time. He-” He made a gigantic dramatic sigh. “He has a new accessory.”

She pulled the photo from his grasp. “Wow. I thought me and him really had something goin’.” Ronnie closed her eyes and pretended to fake sob into Ian’s lap.

“There, there- you’re a whore; you’ll find another one.” He patted her back, laughter in his voice.

She picked up her head and continued taking things from her shopping bag. “Suck a dick, Ian.” She said, glaring.

Ian just looked back down at his stack of photos. What was he supposed to say to her comeback? _Gladly_? He didn’t know why he still hadn’t told his roommate about his sexual preference. Probably because he figured it wasn’t a big deal unless he actually brought some guy home- which he hadn’t.

After setting the degrees on the oven, Verona turned to him with three tomatoes in hand. “So I was thinking tonight we could do homemade pizza. What chya think, kid?”

The word homemade made him think of the uneven black ink on Mickey’s knuckles.

“Did you buy pepperoni?” He asked.

She nodded then threw the tomatoes in the air and started juggling them.

“Then I think it’s great.” He stated, watching the little show his roommate was putting on for him.

“Oh, speaking of pepperoni!” She continued to juggle while she spoke. “I’m on a mission for a guy this week… again.” A laugh passed her lips.

Ronnie had a tendency to scour the city looking for random guys to take home for the night. Hearing the door shut at three in the morning only to be followed by shuffling noises and muffled moans wasn’t new territory for Ian- Christ, he’d lived with Fiona Gallagher! Of course that wasn’t new to him.

He nodded and took in the sight of his roommate. He did this often- just stared at her. Because, honestly, he had to admit she was gorgeous even if he didn’t want to get into her pants.

He’d often heard her cry at night, whispering to herself about how she needed to lose weight or she’d be alone forever. He’d always hesitated outside her door with his fist raised in the pre-knock position. But he always just shook his head and sighed, walking back into his room. He’d always see that later on, on those nights, she’d post extra-long chapters like she’d escaped to Graham and Alex’s world a little longer than usual.

Ian dragged his gaze down her body. She was a thick girl, yeah, but it seemed to fit her personality. She was bright and interesting and demanded to be seen and noticed. He listened to the way she giggled when she almost dropped a tomato; she was going on about what their professor said about killing Graham.

How did the guys she took home always leave by morning light? How could they? Ian was even kind of fixated on her and he didn’t even like women.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, mulling over whether asking the question that popped into his train of thought was appropriate.

“Hey,” He said lightly. “You always go out looking for these guys but I have one question.”

She stopped juggling, leaning against their stove that was positioned opposite to the counter Ian was sitting. Their kitchen was like a long, narrow hallway. “Shoot.”

He placed the stack of photos next to him then brought up a hand to scratch his neck. “Why have you never, like- I don’t know, tried to jump me?”

A blush crept up on her cheeks, making her as bright at the three tomatoes she held in her hands. “Oh.”

She swallowed, “Well Ian, I-“

He cut her off, “I just mean, you find these random guys and I was just wondering.” He stuttered then. God, why’d he ask? What if she got the wrong idea? “Like, if you don’t find me attractive that’s okay; I just wanted to know why not. I know you better than any guy in the city.”

She nodded, her eyes cast downward. Was this really happening? Was Ian Gallagher seriously asking her this?

“Well Ian,” she started again. “I just think that-” What did she think? “We’re roommates, ya know? You don’t really have anywhere to go when you run away in the morning.” She let out a pained laugh.

Ian’s shoulders slumped. She thought he’d leave like the rest of them. He really shouldn’t have asked, now he felt bad because he wasn’t going to sleep with her at all anyway.

“Oh.” He let his feet slide to the floor and he stood up tall. “Well, the men that run aren’t keepers anyway, Ron. You’re too beautiful for those noncommittal fuckers.” He paused. “No pun intended.”

She laughed with a nod, then sucked in a breath like she was sucking all her happiness back in. “So- you got the dough and I got the sauce?”

Ian nodded and patted her on the shoulder, moving to get flour and a rolling pin.

***

Ian scratched his head through his beanie before putting out the cigarette he’d been puffing on by scraping it along the brick wall. He felt an air of nervousness seeping off his body like a cloud.

He’d been standing in the side ally to Java Jim’s for the past ten minutes, smoking and trying to shake out his nerves through his limbs. He bit his lip. “Aw, fuck it.”

He moved his legs before he changed his mind and realized what he was doing.

Three baristas were moving frantically pouring coffee, pumping espresso and cursing under their breath- the morning rush. But none of those baristas were a walking yin-yang with blue eyes that Ian had dreamt about the night before.

He walked around the large line and folded his arms over the glass pastry case, leaning his entire front against it.

Chris, a guy that Ian may or may not have made out with a many times, was lidding a cup next to the case. “Hey, Ian.” He smiled.

Ian raised two fingers to his eyebrow in a salute. He looked around the shop, “Mickey around?”

Chris’s brow furrowed as he handed a customer their cup, keeping his eyes on Ian. “New guy?”

Ian nodded his head, “That’s the one.”

Chris ran his hand through his hair of massive, dirty blond curls and leaned an arm next to Ian’s on the case. “What do you want with him?”

Ian rolled his eyes. “What I don’t want with you.”

Ian blamed his rudeness on his nerves, but to be frank it was none of Chris’s damn business anyway.

Chris glared and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Fuck you, Ian. He’s in the back.” He pushed away from the case and angrily made a Frappuccino next to Jenny, murmuring how Ian had zero taste in guys.

Ian opened the divider between the customers and the workers on the right side of the case, weaving his way through coffee making traffic. He pushed the kitchen door open to see Rebecca, a girl that Ian may or may not have drunkenly made out with, making rainbow swirl cookies.

She looked up when he accidentally stubbed his foot on a metal rack, causing many tealeaf canisters to clatter to the floor. “Oops.” He giggled out.

She smiled wide. “Holy shit, do my eyes deceive me or am I seein’ Ian fuckin’ Gallagher in my kitchen?”

He opened his arms and chuckled, “In the flesh.”

She dusted off her powdered sugared hands on her jeans then entered his arms, hugging him tight around his middle.

She was a petite girl and she had dyed her hair purple since the last time Ian saw her.

“You’re looking like a grape.” He said pulling a strand of her hair.

She scrunched up her nose and ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. “Yeah, well, you’re lookin’ like a carro-”

The back door that led to the alley opened, Mickey was putting a lighter in his back pocket.

“Oh!” She turned to Ian, then continued on in a hushed tone. “This new guy is a hoot! He’s from Chicago, like you. And I swear he won’t last a week!”

Mickey was in the back hallway, far from Rebecca’s shit stirring mouth, signing into his shift on the clipboard that hung on the wall.

“Oh really?” Ian murmured looking from Rebecca’s face to Mickey’s form pressed up against the wall as he wrote.

“Ian, he seriously told someone to _fuck off_ on his first day! A customer! Jim ain’t gonna stand for it- I’ll tell you that right now.” She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head to one side. “Plus, he doesn’t really like working here that much.” Ian nodded understandingly.

“Milkovich!” She called, turning around. Mickey looked over, smiling at the sight of Ian. “Come meet a Java alumni! Nicest guy you’ll ever get to know,” She paused, bringing her hand up to Ian’s shoulder. “Or not know. I don’t peg ya as a people person, Milkovich.”

Mickey walked toward them. “Just gotta be the right people.” He said, his tongue meeting the corner of his mouth.

Ian stuck out his hand, pretending that he’s never met Mickey in his life. “Ian Gallagher.”

Mickey put his ‘U-UP’ hand in Ian’s. “Mickey Milkovich.”

Ian felt a jolt up his arm at where he and Mickey connected.

“Oh, shit.” Rebecca said looking between the grins on both boys faces, shaking her head and eyeing Ian. “Did I just-? Ian, get your love seeking ass outta here. Before your dick makes another new one quit.”

She pushed at his shoulders and Mickey let out a laugh while saying, “ _Another_?”

“What can I say?” Ian repeated his words from the night before as Rebecca pushed him through the kitchen door, hands on his chest. “I’m kind of a big deal.” He grinned before the door shut on him.

“That one’s a pistol.” Rebecca muttered to herself.

Looking up, she saw Mickey biting his lip, attempting to suppress his smile as he looked at the spot Ian stood moments before.

“You-” She pointed to Mickey. “Get to work!”

“Fuck off.” He grabbed his dark green apron off the hook next to the kitchen door and tied it around his back.

Rebecca scoffed and put her lavender hair in a ponytail, going back to swirling rainbows on a tray.

***

After the morning rush had thankfully settled down, Mickey leaned on the counter next to the register, noticing Ian sitting in the back corner of the shop, reading a text book with a highlighter cap between his lips. He was in a little nook where the bricks seemed to capture all the light from the skylight making his red hair flame, much to Mickey’s viewing pleasure.

Ian’s brows furrowed- in a way that Mickey would never admit made him smile- and he recapped his highlighter and brought his book closer, using his finger to reread a paragraph a couple times. Mickey saw Ian’s mouth move, silently mouthing “what the fuck?” to himself.

Mickey hopped the counter with ease; he took a step toward Ian before stretching back over the counter and to the side to reach a chocolate chip croissant from the pastry case, he wrapped it in a napkin.

Ian didn’t pick up his head when he felt Mickey’s presence beside him, only peered at him sideways to his left.

“Heard from Grape-Head that these are your favorite.” Mickey said, extending the pastry to the studying student.

Ian looked up, taking in the sight of the croissant. “Good source; Grape-Head is correct.” He took it from Mickey’s hand and took a bite, refocusing on his text book.

Mickey awkwardly looked around him as if searching around the room would help him in his search for something to say.

“Anything you need, Mickey?” Ian murmured before biting into the cap of his highlighter, disconnecting the marker end.

 _You._ Mickey wanted to stab one of Ian’s pens in his eye at his thought. He doesn’t even know the damn guy and he’s spouting love poems for him in his head like Romeo Montague.

“Uh,” He bit his lip. “Not really.”

Moving to New York had definitely made Mickey soft; maybe he needed the constant torture of the Southside to keep him strong and sane.

Ian kicked out the chair across from him with his foot. “If you get me a hot chocolate I may let you sit with me.” He said with laughter in his voice.

“What’re you? The king of fuckin’ England? I gotta be graced with your presence?” Mickey said crossing his arms.

“Well, my sister does call me Prince Ian.”

“What the fuck ever, man.” Mickey rolled his eyes and hopped back over the counter.

Ian watched expectantly as he stood for a second at the register with his arms crossed and a ticked expression on his face; but when Mickey’s eyes connected with Ian’s Mickey groaned and slumped his shoulders, walking toward the hot chocolate maker. Ian grinned. _Ha, knew it._

Ian went back to deciphering his text book, taking bites of his croissant mindlessly. He tried, honestly he did, to not watch Mickey angrily bump around behind the counter like Ian’s royal servant.

“Here you fuckin’ go, Cinderella.” Mick said moments later, placing the cup on the table and pulling out the chair across from Ian.

The mug was wide, in a classic coffee shop kind of way, and was sitting on a saucer. Sticking out from under the cup was a napkin with an area code with seven numbers following after it. The layer of cream on the top was melted to a spoon sticking consistency.

Ian lifted the nearly overflowing mug and took the napkin out. He popped it like a paper money bill and raised his eyebrows at Mickey. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mickey Milkovich?”

“Shut the fuck up, I told you I was doin’ that yesterday; didn’t I?” He dragged his thumb over his bottom lip, leaning back in the café chair.

“You’re so rough.” Ian leaned his elbows on the table. “I hope you’re like that with everything you do.” Did he just say that? God, Rebecca was right, he was a slut.

Mickey raised his eyebrows, eyes going a bit wide, and his tongue out in his usual tick.

“I’ll promise you that, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. Ian put his hand around the handle of his cup, gazing down at the cream. He looked back up at the man across from him, an idea coming to mind.

He dipped his spoon that lay next to the cup on the saucer, into the liquid. He pulled it out slowly, covering it in the sweet cream.

Mickey watched carefully as Ian brought the thick cream covered spoon to his lips. Ian’s tongue slipped out of his mouth, licking the rim of the utensil suggestively; his eyes half-lidded.

Mickey bit his lip, feeling heat rise over the back of his neck and a groan form in the back of his throat.

Ian put the whole spoon in his mouth, letting white cream drip from one corner of his mouth when he was done sucking on it. Mickey resisted the urge to lean over the small café table and lick it off.

A ding sounded over the door signaling a customer- it pulled Mickey out of Ian’s siren song. He cleared his throat, eyes wandering the shop for anything to distract him from the silent show Ian just gave him.

Ian closed his textbook and took a massive gulp from his mug of hot chocolate, before packing away his things into his messenger.

“You should come see me at work tonight.” Ian stated.

“What do you do?” Mickey asked, ignoring Chris’s call for him from the kitchen door.

“I work at The Strobe.” Ian said, no way was he telling the guy he was interested in that he was paid to dance on platforms and grind on old dudes.

“So you’re a bartender or something?”

Ian stood and shrugged one shoulder, “Or something.”

Ian started toward the door but Mickey stopped him by his second step.

“Hey, wait- you didn’t pay for any of this.” Mickey pointed to the half full mug and the empty napkin the croissant was once in.

Ian braced an arm on the table, leaning his weight on it and looking down at what he’d discarded. His eyes brightened, “Consider this a first date.” He patted Mickey on the chest. “God, what a gentleman you are- paying for me and everything!”

And with that Ian was gone, leaving a confused Mickey in his wake. Mickey cleaned up his table with a smirk on his face. He didn’t know how Ian had done it but he had- he’d gotten Mickey Milkovich to clean up after him _and_ pay for him. And for some reason Mickey was totally okay with it.


	3. Dancers, Dream Catchers, and Daddy Issues

“Hey.” Mandy’s voice crackled through his cell phone speaker. “I got the laptop from Iggy; we can Skype tonight. Are you doing anything?”

“Uh, yeah.” Mickey adjusted the collar of his black dress shirt in his foggy bathroom mirror. “I’m goin’ out.”

So meeting a guy at his job isn’t technically going out but whatever, it was good enough for Mickey.

“With who?” He can practically hear her lips crack because her smile is so wide. “A guy?”

“Fuck off.” He picks his phone up from the bedside table and shoves it between his ear and shoulder, turning off the speakerphone.

She gasps. “A guy!” The sound of her shutting her bedroom door comes through his phone. “What’s he look like?”

“None of your fuckin’ business is what he looks like.” Mickey rolls his eyes as he puts gel in his hair, slicking it back.

“Don’t be such a fuckin’ douche bag! Tell me, Mick!”

Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose. “For Christ’s sake, Mandy! Fucks it matter what he looks like?”

“Is it that big of a deal, Mick? I just want to know if we have similar taste in guys, fuck.”

He scoffed. “Shut the fuck up, Mand.” He ran his hands under the faucet, taking the sticky excess gel off of his fingers.

There was a few moments of silence but Mandy broke it.

“So, are you gonna tell me or what, assface?”

He sighs loudly, sitting on his bed and grabbing his shoes. He switched the phone to his other shoulder. “He’s a redhead.” His voice was low, like Ian was in the room and he didn’t want him to hear.

“Spicy,” was all she said.

She was waiting for him to continue; she rolled her eyes. She realized if she was getting anything out of Mickey she would have to ask him questions.

“Like, ginger redhead or ‘everyone fuckin’ look at me- I dyed my hair red’ redhead?” She put on a dopey voice for part of her question.

Mickey chuckled. “Like ginger; fuckin’ freckles too- the whole nine.”

“Well shit.” She paused again, biting on a fingernail. “Eye color?”

“Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know. Green?” Mickey fell back onto his bed, raising his arm to check his watch. He had about an hour till he had to meet Ian at The Strobe.

“What’s he like?” She sighed.

 _What is this- a fuckin’ slumber party?_ Mickey couldn’t believe he was having this fucking conversation right now. So, he decided to end it. “Mandy, if you give so many fucks look him up on Facebook or something- become his best friend. Just stop asking so many stupid fuckin’ questions.”

He heard her moving around. “Okay, what’s his name?”

He knew that she was probably sitting on her bed with her legs crisscrossed and the computer in her lap.

Mickey bit his lip. Should he tell her? Aw, fuck it. “Ian.”

“Ian what?” She said it like she was talking to a small child, trying to coax him to say thank you to an adult.

“Gallagher.”

Mandy started laughing. Like full on cackling.

“What? What the fuck are you laughing at?” Heat grew up his neck, and a blush settled on his cheeks.

“Holy shit, Mick- you’re dating my boyfriend’s brother!”

“The fuck you just say to me?” He and Ian were definitely _not dating._

“You’re dating my boyfriend’s-”

“Ian’s Southside?” Mickey muttered to himself. He hadn’t seen anything in Ian that made him seem Southside at all. But he did see how the kid sort of felt like home. _Wow, I’m getting really fuckin’ gay._

“Uh, yeah- he’s Frank’s kid, dumbass.”

 _Shit, Ian was the one that had that bipolar episode and ran away to the army a couple years back._ Mickey thought.

They were silent for a long time, only breathing transferred between their phone connections. Mickey wasn’t so sure if he wanted to go out anymore. He unbuttoned the first couple buttons on his dress shirt.

“He’s not bad, Mickey. Don’t listen to a Southside reputation.” No reply. “You’re not a ruthless thug are you? No. So give the kid a damn chance.” Mandy said. She knew her brother more than anyone; she knew he’d start to back out as soon as there was a chance he’d get stuck in a relationship. Especially with someone who’s bipolar- Mickey couldn’t handle that.

“Mickey? You there?”

“Yeah, just thinking.” He bit at his lip, tearing up the skin.

“Just fuckin’ go. I’m not telling you that you have to fall in love with him. I’m telling you to not be against it if you do.”

Mickey closed his eyes with a sigh. “Okay.”

“Have fun fucking a Gallagher!” _Click._ Mickey wanted to punch her.

***

Ian texted him to meet him on the west side of the club. He said that once he gets there he’d see him- “ _Couldn’t miss me if you tried_.”

Almost every person standing outside of The Strobe would’ve gotten their ass beat if this was the Southside. Two guys were making out near the entrance, one guy in line looked completely normal but when you looked down you saw that he was wearing bright pink fuck-me pumps. Mickey swallowed nervously as he looked at the type of people around him. Technically these were his people- well, his community at least.

The fact that Ian was a descendant of Frank Gallagher faded from Mickey’s mind as the neon lights were absorbed into his pale skin. The techno beats pounded in his ears when he entered; he could feel the room shaking with the bass.

Fuck, what had Mandy gotten him into…?

He did as Ian’s text had instructed, walking toward the west wall of the building, weaving though men sloppily falling all over one another at the bar and men that grinded in time with the music that surrounded them. Some were kissing on the dance floor, or at the bar, or anywhere really- it was just couples enjoying a safe place where they could be themselves minus the judgment.

That was Mickey Milkovich’s current state of being.

He felt like he could find Gallagher and push himself into him and kiss him. Hell, he felt like he could kiss a guy- that was a big deal to him by itself.

Mickey has had sex with guys, sure. But only random ones he’d found around the Southside that were just as scared of who they were as he was. But, no, Mickey Milkovich had never kissed a guy. Kissing had always been far too intimate for him- he was a quick fuck kind of person and he never strayed from it.

He looked around for the shock of red hair that seemed to get his heart pumping out of his chest at the sight of it. While gliding through the bodies, Mickey’s thoughts floated to his dad. How he’d forced Mickey to have sex with girls in the past; how he’d broken his ribs and several other bones in Mickey’s body; how he’d made his youngest son feel like he didn’t deserve to live just because he happened to want to _love_ another person. But looking out at the smiling faces around him Mickey didn’t seem to understand how his father could be so against something like love.

A warmth spread through his chest and his heart nearly exploded at the sight of Gallagher. Ian had been right- you couldn’t miss him. A small crowd of older men gathered around the redhead; Ian was gyrating his hips and running his hand up and down his bare chest. Mickey gulped, eyeing Ian’s outfit of tiny, shimmering gold shorts and a small golden tie.

 _Or something._ Ian’s words from earlier that day suddenly made sense to Mickey- he was a fuckin’ stripper.

Ian turned his body in a slow circle, letting men stick bills in his shorts with lingering, clammy fingers. Mickey frowned and pushed his way through the rich older men, slapping Ian in the calf when he reached the platform.

Ian turned around, looking down where someone hit him. His face was full of confusion until he saw a well-dressed Mickey Milkovich.

“Mickey!” He yelled over the music. He stepped down from his platform and pressed a kiss to Mickey’s cheek. “I’m so happy you came!”

“Yeah, well,” Warmth spread through his cheek from the point where skin met lips; the men surrounding them gave Mickey glares of jealousy. Mickey raised his hand to where Ian’s lips were, scratching the area like he was scratching away the kiss. “I can’t stick around for long.”

Mickey started to feel uncomfortable- all that ran through his mind was beatings from his father and shitty Southside reputations.

Ian rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, you’re such a busy man.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he eyed the barista; Ian knew he’d probably just go home to his shitty apartment and watch a movie or drink too many beers alone. He grabbed Mickey’s hand, “Let’s get you a drink.”

Ian placed Mickey’s hands on his hips- as he walked in front of him- as a way to stay connected through the crowd. But Mickey noticed that everyone seemed to part for Ian like he was the god-damn queen of the gays.

“You a big deal around here?” Mickey yelled over the techno beats, leaning the front of his body into Ian’s back, his lips grazing his ear.

Ian turned his head slightly while carrying on to the bar. “I already told you- I’m kind of a big deal.” He let out a laugh, realizing this seemed to be his catchphrase lately. Mickey rolled his eyes, a lazy grin tugging the right side of his mouth.

Ian tapped his hand on the counter top, placing all his weight on it and leaning over to whisper in the bartender’s ear. Mickey watched Ian; how he seemed to be able to drag anyone into his trap. He was like a siren- pulling poor, helpless sailors into his sea; Mickey included.

The bartender leaned back, “Sure thing, Ian.”

Ian turned around, smiling brightly at Mickey, with his elbows on the bar top. His arms dangled, his chest exposed and puffed out- making him look strong and hard.

“You’re kind of worse than Narcissus.” _What’s with all the Greek fuckin’ mythology lately?_ Mickey thought, seating himself on a stool next to Ian.

Ian punched him in the shoulder, laughing. “Yeah well, you’re kind of worse than Aphrodite.”

Mickey tried to understand what Ian meant. What the hell did he have in common with the Greek Goddess of Love? Mickey looked down at the strange colored drink the bartender put down in front of him, twirling the straw. “How so?”

Ian put his lips to Mickey’s ear, leaning his left hand on his shoulder and pushing his chest against his upper arm; the fingers of his right hand wrapping around his bicep. “You’re making me fall in love.”

Mickey sputtered on his fruity alcohol and scooted away from Ian a bit on his barstool. “Wow.” Mickey let out, looking around the club like he wanted to be anywhere but there. Suddenly all the confidence and sense of freedom was gone- this shit with Gallagher could get serious and he didn’t exactly know how he felt about it.

Ian’s bottom lip stuck out in a pout, he took his hands away from Mickey as if they were burning the other person. “I-uh- it was a joke, Mick.” Was it? Was it really?

Mickey nodded his head, clearing his throat. “So, how’d you find yourself workin’ here, Firecrotch?” He pointed out his finger, motioning around; hand still holding his colorful drink.

Ian scratched his head, small specks of glitter falling out; his face was the picture of insecurity. Mickey took the time to notice glitter was dusted all down Ian’s chest, his eyes ringed with eyeliner.

“Long story.” He murmured, taking Mickey’s drink and knocking it back. If he was going to tell someone about this section of his life he needed to get intoxicated. He tapped the cup on the counter top, signaling he wanted another.

“Before you say _I got time, Firecrotch._ ” Ian attempted to make his voice sound Mickey-esque; it brought a laugh though Mickey’s vocal cords. “I ran away a couple years ago and when I came back I went straight to Boystown; got a job at a place called the Fairy Tale.” He picked at his nails. “The rest is history really… I got stuck in the job. Some shit happened at home. It was a hard time.”

“Yeah, heard the sob story ‘round the Southside. Fiona fucked up, huh?”

Ian kind of jolted, “How do you know that?”

“I’m Southside, fuck-head.” He wiggled his fingers at Ian. “Don’t get ink like this anywhere else but the Milkovich household in the good ol’ Southside of Chicago.” He took a box of cheap cigarettes from his pocket like he was proving he was a trashy ass Southsider.

Ian suddenly felt warmth sweep through his limbs and across his chest, up to his cheeks. “Holy shit, Mickey Milkovich- I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection! Man, you’re a legend! I had such a crush on you when I was 12! Fiona used to warn us about running into your dad, like, every day.”

Mickey’s cigarette bobbed in his mouth as he spoke, “At least you could avoid the fucker.” Mickey back tracked through Ian’s words, lowering the lighter from his mouth and neglecting the stick dangling from his lips. “Wait, you had a crush on me?”

Ian sighed like he just listened to the ending of a fairy tale where the prince finally, in this case, meets his prince. “Yeah. Only from stories though.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hearing about a knee breaking, badass fourteen year old really got me through puberty.” He chuckled remembering Lip talking about the dirty thug that would pay him to write his papers.

Mickey shook his head as he rolled his eyes. “You’re such a fuckin’ girl.”

“You’ll get over it.” Ian retorted, taking the now lit cigarette from Mickey’s mouth and taking a puff.

“Seriously?” Mickey pushed at Ian’s shoulder. “That was my last one.”

Ian blew the smoke in Mickey’s face mockingly. Mickey’s frown deepened, “I hate you so much.”

The bartender flicked Ian on the ear, causing the redhead to jump. “No smoking in here, Ian. You know that.”

Ian held the cigarette between his lips for a long moment, inhaling deeply. “Break time.” The words could practically be spelled out with the smoke that came from Ian’s lungs.

“You’re such a bastard.” The bartender’s British accent dripped with laughter.

Ian blew a kiss at him, taking Mickey by the arm and moving him to a locker room in the back of the club where Ian put on a pair jeans over his little gold shorts, not bothering to take the glistening tie from around his neck. He then pushed Mick down a dark hall that had a door that was covered in skating stickers and golden stars.

***

Ian handed Mickey the half spent cigarette, sliding down the brick wall to sit next to the silver, metal garbage can in the back alley of The Strobe.

“So, are the legends true?” He said, leaning his head back against the wall, looking up at Mickey.

“Depends.” Mickey flicked the stick between his fingers. “What’d ya hear, Firecrotch?”

Ian brought his knees up to his chest, laying his chin there while he thought. “Um,” he tried to remember one of the first stories he heard from Lip. “Did you steal from the Kash and Grab and get thrown into Juvie at 15?”

Mickey nodded, taking one last long drag from the stick before taking it between two fingers and throwing it to the ground- crushing the cigarette under his boot. “Mandy was hungry- had to.”

“Mandy?”

“My sister.”

Ian nodded, thinking of the girl laughing with Lip on his bed. He was sure she was Mandy Milkovich.

He chuckled at a childhood memory that came back to him, “I actually got a job there when I was 15 just hoping to see you there. You never came in though.”

Mickey heart started to beat faster for some reason. Maybe it was because Ian Gallagher seemed to be infatuated with his Southside rep.

“Mandy said it’d be suicide if I went back. That fuckin’ guy was such a pussy though; stealing from him was a breeze- till his damn towelhead wife caught me on camera. Such a fucking hard ass that woman.” Mickey shoved his fingers in his front pockets, leaving his thumbs out.

“ _He_ was a bitch- fucked him to oblivion, like, every day.” Ian said nonchalantly.

Mickey kicked him in the leg, “Ew, man. You were 15 and he was what? - 30 whatever?”

Ian picked at the laces of his worn Converse. “I was a lonely kid looking for love, man.” Mickey thought of himself messing with girls when he was younger, knowing the feeling. Ian grinned up at Mickey, “Besides- Mickey Milkovich never came in to distract me.”

Mickey bit his lip, his eyes trailing over Ian’s features- how Ian’s eyes seemed to sparkle in anticipation every time Mickey was about to speak. “He’s here now, Gallagher.”

Ian nodded seriously, raking his eyes down Mickey’s body shamelessly. “Well Mickey hasn’t stolen anything from my store yet.”

Mickey blushed- like 16 year old girl blushed. “Well, uh.” He shuddered. What the fuck? Nothing was even happening yet. “Maybe he’s waiting for you to steal something from his.”

Ian sported Mickey’s Cheshire cat grin. “Ya know, Milkovich,” Ian said, copying the last name basis they’ve seem to get to; he got on his knees in front of Mickey. Mick sucked in a breath when Ian ran his hands up and down his thighs, his skin tingling under the jean fabric. “I think you’re right.”

His hands advanced from Mickey’s thighs and he ran fingers down Mickey’s abdomen and across his bulging crotch. Ian ghosted his fingertips over the bare skin of Mickey’s arms before grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands out of his pockets. He placed one hand on his own cheek, leaning into it and kissing Mickey’s palm while keeping his greens locked on Mickey’s blues. He then placed it higher, making Mickey pull at his red hair.

Mickey bit his lip again. God, he needed this and he was more than over joyed that it was Ian Gallagher giving it to him.

Mickey swallowed in the scene below him- the way Ian slowly brought down his zipper while biting his lip and gazing up at Mick innocently.

“Fuck, you always look like that?” Mickey breathed out.

“Hm?” Ian started working at him through his boxers, licking at the sensitive skin beneath.

“Like all- fuck-” he gasped out as Ian kissed him through the thin fabric. “All innocent and shit?”

“You gonna chit-chat or let me fuckin’ do this, Mick?” Ian had his index hooked on the elastic, ready to pull down Mickey’s plaid underwear. His eyebrows were raised in what almost looked like annoyance.

Mickey put a hand to the back of Ian’s neck, tilting his head up more, and said sarcastically, “Yeah- hey, let’s talk biology or maybe philosophy.” He pushed Ian’s neck forward toward his heated body.

“I pick biology- reproduction.” Ian leaned forward biting the tight skin above the line of Mickey’s boxers, then licking to sooth the area. Mickey let out a hum. Ian pulled down the elastic, revealing Mickey to the New York night air.

Even though Mickey so yearned the feeling of Ian’s lips wrapped around him, he couldn’t waste the opportunity to be a smart ass. “Technically, two males can’t-” Ian wiggled his tongue over the tip of Mickey’s dick, wrapping his large hand around the shaft in one smooth motion, gradually picking up speed, causing Mickey to start to lose all sense of self control.

Ian licked the underside in a thin line causing Mickey to pant in anticipation. He took Mickey into his mouth slowly, bobbing back with each inch he took in until he held a steady rhythm.

Mickey licked his lips, breathing in pants. He closed his eyes and hung his head forward; his bottom lip always finding home between his teeth. Ian couldn’t control his vocal chords as he groaned around Mickey at the sight above him; how he was plunging Mickey into ecstasy.

Mickey pushed his fingers threw Ian’s hair, thrusting forward slightly, a moan pushing up the back of his throat. Ian brought up his hands, pushing Mickey’s hips into the wall forcefully, holding him in place.

“Fuck, Ian.” Mickey got a muffled moan in response. His father throwing slurs at him ran through his ears, his skin got hotter in frustration. He’d moved miles away and the fucker was still present. He knocked his head back against the wall- trying to get Terry Milkovich out of his thoughts. _You fuckin faggot! Getting your dick sucked in an alley like a fuckin’ desperate whore._ Ian pulled back with a hiss when Mickey’s head made contact with the brick. He’d been looking up at Mickey through his lashes. “You okay, man? That was a hard hit.” Mickey nodded, closing his eyes and just leaning back, bringing his pelvis away from the wall and toward Ian. Ian licked at Mickey’s slit, about to duck down and get back to business, when Mickey’s face scrunched up in frustration, looking like he was forcing himself to get through this. Ian ran a soothing hand up his abdomen to his chest. “Seriously, you okay, Mickey?” Mickey frowned and pounded a fist against the wall before pushing sideways from the bricks and zipping up his pants. Ian leaned back, putting a hand on the gravel behind him for support. He looked up at the dark haired man in confusion. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Mickey muttered. He put a hand on his hip and slumped his shoulders, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He started to walk, with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders in the same slumped, defeated position. Ian stood, “Mickey, wait! What happened?” He called.

Mickey became a retreating shadow in the blue light of the moon, the yellow, almost burning out alley lights its contrast. “Don’t worry about it!” Mickey turned his head, throwing back a wave. Ian got to his feet, flopping his arms against his sides, perplexed. “But I will!” Mickey stopped, his feet no longer crunching in the gravel. Somebody worrying about anything related to him shocked him. Nobody ever cared about Mickey enough to worry about him. Maybe Mandy but this was different. Ian took his pause as an opportunity to jog after him.

“The fuck, Mickey?” Ian worried his bottom lip. Had he done something wrong?

Mickey just shook his head. He wished he could sort out his shit just so Ian wouldn’t have this worried, saddened expression.

“Did I, um,” Ian sighed. “Did I so something wrong? Because I’m sorry if I pushed yo-“

“No.” Mickey interrupted, his body finally coming to life and registering the scene around him as he put his hands on Ian’s shoulders and rubbed down his arms apologetically. “You’re,” He paused; he wanted to say perfect but the word just wouldn’t come out. “Fine.”

Ian shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “No, I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have done that, Mick. We barely know each other but I guess I just feel like I’ve know you forever because of your reputation and…”

Ian’s babble continued, making Mickey zone out to only hear words like _sorry_ or _don’t do boyfriends_ or _Southside._

Ian shouldn’t be sorry. Hell, Mickey shouldn’t be sorry. Their lives where fucked up and it didn’t help that some of the population of the world made Mickey’s skin crawl in fear and practically cripple him to his bed on some days. It wasn’t fair that they had to be quiet about who they were as people just because a fuck up would disagree and threaten their lives just for wanting to _live_. Mickey couldn’t even fucking stand it. As a child he couldn’t even admit it to himself in his own damn brain cavity that he was gay most of the time. Sometimes he would think someone had the super power to read minds and would tell his dad what he really thought of the Puerto Rican kid across the street who always cut the lawn for his grandmother shirtless.

Whenever Mandy would leave her door open when she had a boyfriend over- Mickey would have a shit fit, making it a big deal to yell something embarrassing then slam her door. He would then cower in his room, looking over his empty bed amd wonder if he could ever roll around and laugh with someone with his door open like Mandy always could. He had always figured boyfriends were off-limits. Having a boyfriend was as gay as you could get in Mickey’s mind.

 _God, shut the fuck up._ Mickey thought and he didn’t really know if he was saying it to himself or Ian.

He pulled Ian against him so they were chest to chest. Ian made a wheezing sound as the air was pushed out of his lungs. “You never shut the fuck up.” Mickey whispered, his breath fanning over Ian’s face.

He pulled him down by the neck, their lips barely touching.

“It’s a fatal flaw.” Ian aired back, out of breath from the close proximity to the older boy.

Ian’s eyes started to flutter and he leaned himself into Mickey, thumbs digging into his hip bones.

Mickey brought up all his courage, pushing his past from his mind. He could fuckin’ do this. It’s not like it’s going to fucking kill him… right?

Mickey’s eyes closed as he puzzle pieced his lips with Ian Gallagher’s. It started soft, like the both of them just wanted to freeze time and stay that way, pouted lips pressed to hard terrified ones.

Ian felt Mickey’s tension. “It’s okay. No one’s gonna catch you.” He whispered, his bottom lip brushing Mickey’s as he spoke. Ian had basically read Mickey’s mind. “Just relax into it, okay?” Mickey wanted to open his eyes and run as far away from what was unfolding. But Ian’s voice calmed him and super glued him in place.

Mickey tried to think back to when he’d kissed one of Mandy’s friends when he was thirteen- his first kiss. How the girl had dragged him by his arm to the back of the Milkovich house, giggling the whole way. How she took his face in her hands, whispering sweet childish things to him, with him just rolling his eyes with a sloppy smirk on his face.

_He held her at her wrists whispering back to her the boy equivalent to those stupid, childish sweet nothings. This was before Mickey had turned into the town terror; before Terry had found his men porno magazines under his bed. Before- when Mickey had a chance of survival._

_“You’re always so dirty.” She laughed sweetly, rubbing at his cheek with her thumb- attempting to rub the dirt off._

_He rolled his eyes again, his head falling against the wall dramatically, her hands sliding down to his neck. “You’re always so clean.” His voice had just been settling on the deeper end of the spectrum, with a slight wheezing sound in the back of his throat on certain words still. She giggled at the way he said clean._

_“I’m a girl!” **Tell me about it.** _

_He laughed, pushing his forehead to hers. Her blonde hair fell in his view, his blue eyes shining and crinkling in the corners as he laughed._

_“Your eyes are my favorite thing about you.” She murmured, a blushed settled on her cheeks. Mickey’s heart started to beat hard in his chest. No one ever really liked anything about him before. Sure, she wasn’t what his body would react to when he had sex in the future but her words where making him feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole._

_He let out a breath, his eyes flicking between her hazel ones- searching for a hint of lie. His hands slid down her forearms and stopped at her elbows._

_She turned her head to the side, nervously. “What’s your favorite thing about me?”_

_Mickey looked all over her turned away face, searching for a feature to point out. She chewed at the corner of her lip in a nervous manner, and Mickey realized that he’d liked when anyone bit their lip. He liked how it showed different emotions- people did it to bite back a happy smile, to get rid of a sad trembling lip, to bite on anger till blood filled your mouth. Mickey loved it. He loved emotion._

_“Your lips.”_

_She had gotten on her tip-toes and fully leaned her twelve year old body onto his. What happened next was natural, his head tilted slightly to bend down to her level more and his lips just pushed against hers for seconds. It wasn’t a big deal to him. He hadn’t been nervous. His lips weren’t in a hard line; he’d just puffed them out and gave little Madeline Tend from down the block one of her favorite memories._

_When the kids disconnected, Madeline giggled and bounce slightly in place, biting her lip again. She settled her feet flat on the ground again and hugged Mickey like he was her all-time favorite person. But Mickey looked around his trashed backyard with a frown on his face. **So it’s true.** He’d thought. **I’m gay.** When she leaned back to pull him somewhere else his smile and laughter had returned. _

Mickey gulped, trying to get back his thirteen year old kissing carelessness as his fingers tightened around Ian’s upper arms. Both boys kept their eyes closed, their foreheads together.

“What are you so afraid of, Mickey?”

He took Ian’s hands in his, placing them on his neck. Then he let his hands go to his wrists, then slide down stopping at Ian’s elbows. It was different this time considering that Mickey had to tilt his head up a bit to meet Ian’s.

But Mickey had gotten back his pouty, girl swooning teenage lips that he’d used on only one girl. He pulled Ian flush against him by his elbows. Ian brushed Mickey’s lips lightly, not feeling the tension in his in un-puckered lips.

Ian pushed forward, making sure he was gentle so Mickey didn’t clamp up again. Ian had a feeling this was something Mickey didn’t do and, to be honest, he was honored to kiss Mickey Milkovich.

He licked at Mickey’s bottom lip, rubbing a soothing thumb on his jaw until Mickey’s lips parted. Their tongues slid wetly against each other causing Mickey to relax and get less mechanical, a small noise coming from him.

The kiss was sweet, to say the least.

When the two disconnected, Mickey opened his eyes slowly with Ian watching every beautiful self-realization filled second. Mickey’s eyes flicked back and forth between Ian’s trying to see a lie, just like he used to as a kid. When all he saw was raw truth he wrapped his arms around Ian’s waist, hugging him like Ian was his all-time favorite person.

***

Mickey grunted when Ian pushed him against the door of his apartment, caging him in with his hand placed flat on the door next to Mickey’s head and the other pressing finger prints into Mickey’s side. Mickey’s hands frantically patted his pockets for his keys. Ian’s teeth pulled at his bottom lip causing a tint of pain to run through Mickey’s nerves, but hell, he wasn’t complaining. Mickey leaned his head back, chuckling. “Aye, easy there, killer.”

Ian just responded by placing his lips firmly down on Mickey’s again; his hand feeling down Mickey’s hip and into the back pocket of his jeans. His fingers closed around a set of keys. He let out a sigh as Mickey pushed him away lightly by the shoulders, taking the key set from Ian’s wondering fingers.

Mickey pressed his body to the door, putting the key in the lock, and shoving the door with his shoulder. The door jammed constantly and was a giant pain in Mickey’s ass but that’s what you get when you live on a barista’s salary.

As soon as the door was pushed open, Ian made his move to spin the shorter man around by the waist, crashing their lips together once more. His foot kicked out behind him, slamming the shitty apartment’s door.

Mickey’s fingers twisted into a fist on the front of Ian’s pale blue t-shirt; he started to walk backwards, grabbing at the tall and lean redhead. He let out a yelp of surprise against the mouth of his other when Ian lifted him off the floor. Mickey wrapped his legs around him. This was the type of manhandling shit Mickey’s only seen in movies. Ian’s hands groped at Mickey’s thighs as he supported his weight; Mickey’s hands tugging at the short, hard to grab, red hairs at the back of Ian’s head.

Mickey gasped when Ian dropped his arms away from his thighs, causing him to fall backward onto the beat-up, duct taped couch Mickey had brought from his room back in Chicago. Mickey’s chest rose and fell frantically as Ian stood over him, bring his t-shirt over his head before settling down over Mickey and biting at his neck. For some reason Mickey couldn’t help but laugh; he couldn’t help the sense of fear leave every fiber of his being just for this one moment he had with Ian Gallagher. The laugh vibrated on his throat; his Adam’s apple jumping against Ian’s lips.

Ian leaned up, both arms supported on each side of Mickey’s head. “What’s so funny, Milkovich?”

Mickey shook his head, his eyes shining as they danced across Ian’s face. “Nothing. Just,” he paused, looking to the side and away from Ian, “happy.”

Ian’s head fell, ducking into Mickey’s neck. “God, you’re such a sap.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to below Mickey’s ear.

Mickey ran his hand up Ian’s neck, he pulled at his ear forcefully between his thumb and index finger. “Shut up and get in me.”

Ian looped his left arm around Mickey’s back, causing the ex-thug to arch off the couch to make room for the limb. Ian pulled him up, while falling back in a swift motion. Mickey was on top of him now, clutching onto his shoulders because the sudden movement was unexpected. His kneeling legs were tense on each side of Ian’s thighs.

“Fuck, Gallagher. Maybe some of us don’t like being picked up like a rag doll and shit!” His fist thumped on Ian’s chest lightly.

Ian ran his hand up Mickey’s lower back, trying to calm the other into placing all his weight down instead of hovering over Ian’s sitting form. He kissed at his jaw, his lips then pressed to Mickey’s ear. “Truth or dare?”

“What are we at a sleepover, Galla-“

“Truth or dare?”

Mickey finally gave in and let his butt down onto Ian’s lap, his hands resting on his chest. “Dare.”

Ian leaned his head back on the couch with a smirk. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t like being my personal little rag doll.”

There was a pause.

“Fuck off.”

Ian’s eyes seemed to flash mischievously.

“No.” Mickey warned, his finger poking painfully at Ian’s pectoral. “Don’t you fucking-“ Ian stood from the couch abruptly. “Dare!” Mickey squeaked out, his legs wrapping around Ian so he wouldn’t fall to the floor and die of embarrassment.

Ian flipped him over his shoulder, walking to the next room. Mickey’s tattooed fists hit against Ian’s back. “You’re so fucking dead, Ian Gallagher! So fucking-“He let out his second yelp of the hour as he was tossed onto his bed like he was made of paper. “Dead.” He said breathlessly, his eyes feeling their way up Ian’s shirtless form.

He leaned back on his elbows as Ian slowly crawled up his body, leaving small kisses on the still clothed skin. His head fell back in an erotic roll, his throat letting out a satisfied hum when the button of his pants were undone and the zipper was pulled down; Ian’s hand slipped into his plaid boxers for the second time that night.

He knocked Ian to the side, so he lay on his back, climbing on top of him and pinning his arms above his head. “Tough guy, huh?”

If anyone climbed the fire escape and took a peek into Mickey’s window they would’ve figured that the boys were fighting, not yearning to get each other’s clothes off. Mickey had somehow gotten himself and Ian down to just their boxers while rolling and shoving each other around the thin blanketed bed. They landed side by side, out of breath.

Ian leaned up on his elbow, looking down at Mick. “Listen, if you’re uncomfortable we don’t have to, man.”

Mickey was stalling by wrestling Gallagher- he knew that and so did Ian. He shook his head, taking in a breath to support himself; like he was breathing in courage. He leaned up, mirroring Ian.

Gallagher’s hand made contact with his cheek but Mickey shoved it off. “Just sex.” He muttered.

Ian frowned but nodded. That was something Ian wasn’t sure he could do. He wasn’t sure he could have Mickey beautifully wriggling underneath him, with his hot breath on his neck without it having anything to do with love. No, Ian Gallagher didn’t think he could _just have sex_ with Mickey Milkovich.

Mickey pushed Ian flat against the pillows, finding his place hovering over the younger boy. With his eyes closed, he rubbed his hands down Ian’s abdomen, feeling the hard muscles contract as Ian leaned up on his elbows once again.

“Oh, you’re taking the wheel?”

Mickey’s eyes snapped open, “Got a problem, fuckhead?”

Ian took him by the hips, making sure their crotches made contact with the grinding motion Ian pulled Mickey to. “Not at all.”

Mickey closed his eyes again, curving his back to kiss at Ian’s pale chest and suck a bruise to his neck. He slowly rolled his hips against Ian’s.

If Ian wasn’t mistaken, this totally didn’t feel like just sex to him. He thrusted up against Mickey, causing him to grind down harder.

Ian’s mouth dropped open in a sort of “uh” sound that he wanted to punch himself for because he sounded like a teenager getting his first blowjob. But the sound seemed to spur Mickey on because his hand reached between them and into Ian’s boxers taking him in his delicate grip.

The slowness and tenderness of all Mickey’s motions was turning Ian on more than he thought it would. But he figured that’s because he hadn’t expected the ex-Southside-thug to be the going slow type. Ian brought two fingers into his mouth, coating them in his saliva, while Mickey was attached to his neck like a vampire. As their mouths connected sloppily and wet, Ian brought the sides of Mickey’s boxers down.

“Wait.” Mickey said, confusing Ian. Shit, he hoped Mickey wouldn’t back out now. Mickey leaned his body to the right, his left knee lifting off the bed a bit and rubbing against Ian’s warm side. He opened a drawer on the side table, rummaging through it quickly.

A bottle was slapped down on Ian’s chest. “Here.” Mickey breathed, his eyes finally meeting Ian’s. Mickey squeezed his shut for a moment, his fingers digging into Ian’s shoulders. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Was he… Calming himself? Ian’s eyebrows synched.

“Are you sure, man? It’s oka-” Mickey forced his mouth over Gallagher’s, licking his way in.

Ian grabbed at the bottle of lube between their chests; he flipped the cap open clumsily, accidentally squirting his whole hand.

He slid his hand down Mickey’s spine, and stuck a finger into him. Mickey gasped against his mouth and rocked back onto his single finger.

They seemed to pick up a pattern, Mickey rocking backward in the same rhythm his hand had on his hold of Ian’s cock; his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head with every rock forward. Ian added more fingers with little murmurs of “fuck” being pressed to Mickey’s lips and jaw. Ian made scissoring motions with his fingers, stretching Mickey to readiness.

Mickey’s dick started leaking onto Ian’s firm stomach; he pushed Gallagher’s hand away and lined his hole with Ian.

“Shit, Mick.” Ian’s groan filled the warm air as Mickey brought himself down slowly, adjusting to Ian.

Mickey supported himself with his hands flat against Ian’s pecs before bring his body up and down, making Ian’s breaths come in choked pants.

Ian bit his lip, looking up when Mickey’s head lolled forward, his body still making sensual rolling motions. Ian couldn’t help but notice that Mickey’s eyes were closed for the whole affair.

Mickey wanted to clasp his hand over his mouth, he was making sounds he never thought he would. He was usually the silent fuck in the back of a van type but right now he sounded like a full on porno, his voice getting higher in pitch when Ian met his thrusts- finding that special spot within Mickey that make him die and go to gay heaven.

Ian’s fingers dug into Mickey’s hips, guiding him in their rolls and movements. The grasp Mickey had on Ian’s shoulders would surely be bruised by the next day, but all Mickey did was lean down and run his tongue along the areas that would soon be a purple-ish color.

Their movements got faster, rougher until white was streaked across Ian’s torso, and Mickey was shuttering; his hip rolls slowing on Ian’s dick.

The sight of Mickey biting his lip to stifle a manly, throaty groan and the feel of Mickey’s muscle flexing around him, had Ian tumbling over the cliff as well.

Ian reached up an arm, letting his fingers lace into Mickey’s sweat soaked hair, and pulled Mickey down. They met in a clumsy, lazy after sex kiss.

Mickey disconnected their meeting body parts and rolled to the side, his back facing Ian. Gallagher saw this as an invitation and, to be honest, he knew this was as close to open Mickey was ever going to get with him so he took a chance. He pressed his chest to Mickey’s back, letting his arm lazily dangle over the older boy’s pale hip. He kissed a trail up his spine where his neck began.

“Why do you keep your eyes closed?” Ian whispered against his skin.

“Because then it might not be real.” Mickey sounded pained. Almost scared.

Ian’s eyebrows creased but he let it go, just nodding and snuggling his nose into the back of Mickey’s neck where it was sticky with sweat. Mickey had issues- but then again who didn’t?

***

_He shoved the pizza roll in his mouth and laughed as he blew up the car on the TV screen, little specks of sauce dribbling out of the corners of his mouth. The Xbox controller in his hand was covered in pizza grease and other substances Mickey was afraid to ask his brothers about._

_Madeline had just left because she and Mandy had gotten into a fight about him. Again. Mandy claimed that she was ditching her to make out with him in the living room. Madeline had declined (even though it was totally true). Trust Mickey, he was one side to that living room make out session every day._

_She’d pecked him on the lips at the front door before leaning over his shoulder and yelling that Mandy was a cunt into the house. Mickey had figured he just lost his girlfriend or whatever the fuck she was because no way was Mandy not going to kill her for her word choice. Honestly, Mickey didn’t care that his first kiss girl was potentially gone from his life._

_“The fuck, dad!” Mickey burst out as Terry rummaged behind the TV, almost knocking it down._

_Terry was like a hurricane since the moment he came through the door that morning, claiming he lost something (he wouldn’t tell Mickey what the something was) and if his ungrateful fucks of children gave even 1% of a fuck about him they’d help him look. So naturally Mandy had slammed her door, Mickey turned on the Xbox, and the rest of the brothers went out- 0% fucks given from the clan Milkovich._

_Terry just slapped his son on the side of the head and continued his search for whatever the fuck he was frantically looking for. Mickey rolled his eyes and continued blowing up cars on the screen._

_After moments had passed Terry’s booming, obviously angered voice came from the room with the sign that clearly stated **STAY THE FUCK OUT** but Terry was never much of a reader, much less a rule follower._

_“Mickola!” Mickey nearly jumped out of his skin, the dirty couch creaked beneath him. His father never said Mickola. He never wanted to be reminded of the stupid fuckin’ name his wife had given his son._

_“Dad?” He called back._

_“Get the fuck in here! You fuckin’ faggot!” Mickey’s blood ran cold, his thirteen year old fists clenching at his sides in fear._

_His feet felt weighed down by ball and chain, his heart felt like it was about to explode, and his nerves tingled harshly, making it feel as if he had spikes of ice in his blood stream. He pushed the door to his room open cautiously, getting slapped in the face with gloss paper immediately._

_He looked down at the thrown magazine that had fallen open, a naked man staring up at him._

_“That’s not mine.” Mickey choked out. He felt like a drug dealer that’s been caught._

_“Who gave it to ya, Mick?” Terry slammed him against the door, his forearm pushing against Mickey’s throat._

_Mickey didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want his dad to charge into Roger Spikey’s house with a goddamn shotgun. But- he had to if he didn’t want to die before he even turned sixteen._

_“Rog-“ He tried to breathe but the pressure his father put on his throat was too hard._

_His father let go and grabbed him by the hair, slamming his head into the wooden door. “Spit it out, you little fucker!”_

_Mickey felt the warm, angry spit on his face that was spewing from his father’s mouth like an insult. “Mandy.”_

_He hadn’t known why he said it. It had seemed logical in his deoxygenated state. But it was the worst decision he could’ve ever made._

_He threw Mickey down on the floor, kicking him in the ribs before pounding on Mandy’s door screaming angrily about how she was a little whore and she should know what whores got by now._

_Mickey curled into a ball as Mandy’s cries and screams came through the wall. He just murmured the little words of “I’m sorry” over and over again as his eyes felt acidic with tears and his nails bit into his skin causing blood to bubble out. He wasn’t sure who the sorrys were for- Mandy, himself, or the world that hated him._

_When Mandy cried out harsher than before, he started screaming. His throat was raw but he couldn’t deal with hearing her anymore. He couldn’t deal with knowing he’d said her name instead of some dumbass kid that he didn’t mean shit to- to get the brunt of Terry’s rage over the fact that his son liked another boy. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”_

“Mickey! Jesus Christ, Mick!” He was being shaken, a strong hand wrapped around his upper arm.

He felt the word ‘sorry’ ending on his lips as he came out of his sleeping state. Ian Gallagher was sat up on one elbow, shaking and soothing him.

“Bad dream?” He said, Mickey could tell he’d just woken up because his voice sounded like it was dipped in thick honey.

Mickey nodded, rolling on his back. “Big bad mother fucking monster.” He said to the ceiling. Terry Milkovich was scarier than Freddie Kruger and the like. There was no other horror movie than the one that was Mickey Milkovich’s life.

“It’s okay. No more bad dreams because-” Ian yawned, falling to sleep once more. He placed a reassuring arm over Mickey’s stomach, snuggling his face into Mickey’s neck. “I’ll be your dream catcher, Mick.”

Mickey stared up at the ceiling, tracing circles on Ian’s back with his finger as her drifted into a calm sleep. Ian didn’t know _he_ was a dream; a dream Mickey was afraid to dose off into.

The scent of permanent marker made his nose tingle and his eyes water. He rubbed his hand down his face, tiredly. Half of his face was shoved into a pillow and he could feel the creases it made on his cheek.

He opened his eyes to the sight of Ian Gallagher sitting crisscross on his stained carpet, his hand moving a Sharpie over what was obviously a sketch book. Ian looked up at his subject.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He looked down at his sketch pad. “And you moved.”

“Living things tend to do that, Firecrotch.” He went to sit up but Ian stopped him abruptly.

“Let me just finish it, okay? I’ll put you back into place.” Ian leaned forward, placing his hand on Mickey’s cheek and turning his face into the pillow more. He took Mickey’s arm by the wrist and placed it where is lay previously; he even placed his fingers a certain way.

“You some artist or something?” He whispered, fixated on how concentrated Ian was at getting him just right- like Mickey himself was a work of art.

“Don’t move!” Ian put his hand over Mickey’s eyes in a downward motion, making them close. “Perfect.”

Mickey heard marker moving on paper again.

“Sorry, Mickey.” Ian said. “You just looked so good; I had to.”

Mickey chanced opening his eyes. Ian had his brow creased, his lip between his teeth. When he looked up again, Mickey’s eyes snapped shut.

“So,” Ian dragged out the word. “What was your dream last night?”

Mickey swallowed. “Nothin’.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing.” He heard Ian moving around then settling on the floor in front of him again.

“It was just a nightmare.”

“You can move now.” He said. “And seriously, Mickey, you can tell me about the monsters that go bump in your brain.”

Mickey sat up and Ian handed him the cup of coffee that he just noticed was on his shitty, peeling side table.

He took a sip. “It’s just my dad.”

Ian had colored pencils in his hand, holding them up near Mickey and closing one eye. Mickey realized he was looking for the right skin color. He’d apparently settled on both, using them at different times in the next minute of silence.

“What about your dad?” He said, taking out four blue pencils then getting on his knees between Mickey’s legs. He pulled his face close, looking between both eyes. Mickey wanted to melt because of the way Gallagher was looking at him then- like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“My eyes were closed.” He muttered, looking down at the coffee mug in his lap.

Ian blushed. “I drew one of you at the coffee shop yesterday. I wasn’t close enough for your eye color. I mean, they’re so beautiful.”

No one had ever called anything about Mickey beautiful. Hell, no one ever had anything nice to say to Mickey since Madeline.

Ian backed away, picking up his sketch book again- making it a point that Mickey couldn’t look. “So your dad- what’s he like?”

Mickey shivered, Terry always ruined a good fucking moment. “A fuckin’ drunk, in and out of jail my whole life.”

Ian rolled his eyes, “Tell me something anyone from the Southside doesn’t know.”

Mickey scratched at the back of his neck and fingered the hem of his boxers. He shrugged, “He didn’t like me. Never did. Mickola always reminded him too much of my mom- she named me.”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, Frank hated me too. But that was because he’s not really my dad. Anyway, go on.” His hand still worked on the pages.

“He’s not your dad?” Mickey stalled, trying to stop whatever Ian thought he was doing.

“We’re talking about you, Mickey.” Ian spoke.

“I don’t want to fuckin’ talk about it!”

Ian was about to say he needed to let himself out of his cage when Mickey’s phone started ringing. Mickey was bold and put the phone on speaker.

“Mick! Guess what?” He hadn’t even said hello yet. “Iggy scored with this girl last night and oh my god,” Mandy started laughing. “He found out she was a fuckin’ guy! Like, he’d gotten the surgery to be a woma-“

“Mandy!” Mickey’s face was twisted in annoyance.

Ian almost busted out laughing but he put a hand over his mouth to stifle it; his laughter would only embarrass the little thug more.

“What?” She said innocently.

“The fuck you want?”

“Why are you so cranky? I call you every damn da- Ohhhh.” She realized something. “Strike out with Ian last night? I mean, there’s always more redheads. And fuck, there’s plenty of Gallaghers.” Mickey almost dropped the phone scrambling to shut speakerphone off.

Ian’s laugh barked through the speaker to Mandy’s ear. “Wait! You didn’t strike out! Holy shit! And he’s still there! Holy shit! Hi, Ia-“

Mickey finally clicked the button, muttering how much he wanted to fucking kill her into the receiver. After a pause he yelled, “No you can’t fuckin’ talk to him! What the fuck?”

Mickey seemed to be getting angrier with every passing second; his face switching to multiple shades of pink. Ian found himself staring up at him with a tint of the greatest love in his eye. He couldn’t help himself; he loved the way Mickey cursed with so much passion- like he actually was going to go to the Southside and shove the phone up her ass, like he said. All Ian could do was smile. Because he felt it. He felt like he was falling downward into an everlasting pool of Mickey Milkovich and he didn’t have any intention of climbing out soon.

***

Mickey plopped down on his couch next to Gallagher, two beer cans in his hands.

Ian grabbed one and adjusted his t-shirt. “So you never finished telling me about your dad.”

Mickey took the remote from the coffee table in front of him, pushing his feet up and throwing one arm over the back of the couch. The TV screen in front of them came to life. “Won’t.”

Ian slapped him in the chest lightly. “Won’t tell me about your dad?”

Mickey turned his torso toward Ian. “No, I won’t tell you about the fucker that beat my siblings every day and forced them to be fucking criminals. Won’t tell you about the man who raped his daughter just because she happened to look like his ex-wife in some lights. Won’t tell you about the man who would burn me with his cigarettes and mentally fuck me for life. Shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you, Gallagher. And let it go because you have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” His glare at Ian seemed to intensify with every word he’d said. Ian could almost see memories playing in the reflections of his eyes.

Ian just shoved himself more into the couch cushions, bringing his legs up in a crisscross and his beer to his lips. No, he didn’t know what the fuck Mickey was talking about. He’d never had a burning cigarette pushed into his flesh; he’d never heard one of his sister’s cries from through a door. He didn’t have to live like a Milkovich and he’s sorry as fuck that Mickey had had to.

“So I got some fuckin’ daddy issues. Get the fuck over it.” Mickey pushed away from the couch, throwing the remote on the indent where his butt once was.

“Mickey, I didn’t-“ Ian tried to speak out.

Mickey turned, standing over Ian and gesturing wildly as he spoke. “Don’t fuckin’ pity me! I survived that shithole- you should be lookin’ at me like I’m a goddamn god or some shit.” His eyes jumped around wildly.

“I don’t pit-“

“You came from the fuckin’ Southside too! Your dad is a fuck up just like mine so don’t even try to-“ Mickey stopped his rant, finally looking down at Ian.

Ian was biting at his lip nervously. Emotion was written on every inch of his skin. Mickey loved emotion but he was really fucking up what was happening with Ian- he was scaring him off.

“I’m- fuck, Mickey- I’m sorry, man. I won’t bring it up.” Ian picked at the tab of his beer can in his lap. “I was just curious.” He paused. “You were screaming last night, man. Full on horror movie.”

“Yeah, well, no other horror movie quite as epic as my life.” He mumbled, his voice low and his feet moving him away from the couch a step.

Ian stood up, placing his beer on the table. “I’ll leave if you want me too.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets.

Mickey felt like he wasn’t controlling his body as he started to nod. Shit, he didn’t want Ian to leave but he felt like he had to- he’d crossed a line; Mickey had said too much. Hell, he’d even let Ian sleep over last night. New York was making him open and sappy as shit- but isn’t that why he’d moved here in the first place?

Ian nodded back, walking to the door and picking up his messenger bag that contained the sketchbook he’d been using only an hour before. “I really am sorry, Mickey.” He said as he twisted the lock, letting himself out. Mickey hadn’t moved from his spot, only turned his head to Ian. “For everything. Everything your father did and everything I mentioned. I just-“ he sighed. “I really want to, I don’t know, get you.”

Then Ian closed the door, leaving Mickey alone with his riled up memories that always had a place in the back of his mind like a bad taste in his mouth.

He found himself in his bathroom, gripping the sink’s edge and staring daggers at himself in the mirror. “Guess what we’ve been doin’, daddy?” His voice was angry and mocking. “We’ve been fucking!” He stopped himself, pulling away from the mirror. No, he couldn’t say the words he’d always dreamt of yelling to his father.

“Fuck!” His voice resonated in his empty tiled cage. He pounded his fist on the wall. “FUCK.”

He pulled a lighter from his pocket, he lit it and stared at the flame for a long second. _You’re such a flaming homo- why don’t we just light you on fucking fire, you little fuck up?_ His dad’s voice entered his ears.

He brought his forearm over the flame, letting it lap at his pale skin. He hissed; his eyes full of tears. His skin began to redden, then bubble. He pulled away, dropping the lighter in the sink then turning on the faucet to shove his arm under. “Mother _FUCK.”_

_“Hey, Mick.” Mickey’s head whipped toward his father’s voice. Fourteen year old Mickey sat at the kitchen table, a gun in one hand and a rag in the other. His brother’s all sharing his presence at the table._

_“What?” His voice came out harsh and rough; like a Milkovich should be._

_“Get the fuck off your ass and come here.”_

_He hesitated but then his chair scrapped on the floor behind him. He made his way to the couch where Terry lie with his boxers falling off his hips slightly and his body reeking of alcohol._

_“Fuck you want?” Mickey barked._

_Terry grabbed his arm, holding his wrist so tight that Mickey grimaced and attempted to pull back. Terry pushed his almost half dead cigarette to the sensitive skin of Mickey’s wrist. Mickey’s body reacted before his mind even knew what was happening. His fingers grasped at his elbow; almost like he was holding his arm in place and accepting the unjustified punishment. His mouth opened wide, his teeth bared, a high pitched ‘ah’ sound coming from his mouth._

_His brothers just stared on in amazement and took in Mickey’s agony… but none of them moved to save him. None of them a goddamn hero._

_“What you flinchin’ for, shithead?” Terry said, dropping the cigarette to the carpet and wrapping both of his hands around Mickey’s forearm; he pulled his son closer. Mickey stumbled forward, his face inches from his fathers. “I thought you let guys stick shit in ya all the time.”_

_Mickey’s face hardened, “Fuck off. You’re drunk.”_

_Mandy pushed away from her door; she’d come out when she’d heard Mickey’s suffering. She rolled her eyes at the testosterone filled stare off she was about to break up. She took her brother by the shoulder, leading him to the bathroom and sitting him on the toilet as she reached for the medical supplies under the sink. She put a cotton ball on the opening of the medical alcohol, tipping the bottle on its side for a moment._

_“What was that about?” She asked._

_“Fuck should I know.” Mickey didn’t make eye contact with his sister._

_She kneeled in front of him, turning his wrist over so it faced the ceiling on his knee. She put a hand to his cheek. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t. Milkoviches didn’t show love like this- so he would take whatever he got._

_“What’s going on?” Fuck, Mandy was twelve and she could take care of him better than even he could._

_“You wouldn’t understand.” He pushed his finger into the burn Terry just gave him. His lips pressed together harshly._

_She knocked his hand away, “Don’t do that! Fuckin’ psycho.”_

_The cotton ball pressed into his raw, burned flesh. He hissed when she started to dab it in an attempt to clean up the wound, “What wouldn’t I understand?”_

_He examined Mandy’s face as she tried to steady his shaking wrist. She was concerned and she just wanted to nurture him. “Nothing. Just work related.” He said. “Don’t want you mixed up in our runs.”_

_Mandy nodded, obviously believing him. It wasn’t like he was going to tell her what really happened earlier that day; no matter how loving she was acting._

_Earlier, when Terry had gone around town, gathering his sons for a surprise job, Mickey had been in the Alibi bathrooms with a kid from two blocks over named Benet. Benet and Mickey had gotten drunk at a house party weeks before and happened to out themselves to each other in a sloppy blowjob session in the backyard of Kallie Brans’ house. Ever since then they’ve been hooking up in the bathrooms of different establishments._

_Terry had burst through the door, calling out Mickey’s name. Benet had fallen through the unlocked bathroom stall door, why it was unlocked Mickey couldn’t remember- perhaps they’d been rushing, with Mickey on top of him. He tried to play it off as “Oh, I so wasn’t sucking his dick! It just happened to fall into my mouth.” But obviously that ‘This isn’t what it looks like’ mentality would never work on a man like Terry Milkovich. Cigarettes, lighters, and even Mandy’s curling iron became weapons after that day._

Mickey had been a bad kid; he had done something wrong and unnatural. So, he was punished. Last night he and Ian had done something wrong- they had been bad. So, Mickey had punished himself- a habit he had literally burned into his skin and engraved in his mind since he was fourteen years old.


	4. Diabetes, Don'ts, and Skylights

Ian slumped against the closed door to his shared apartment. He’d really fucked up this time. Lip had always told him not to go prying into other people’s business but he always did anyway because fuck Lip.

He sighed, his feet dragging on the floor as he removed his shoes and his jacket. His keys made a chiming noise when he dropped them on the counter top. He leaned on the counter, rubbing his face and pushing his fingers into his eyes. He groaned, “I fucked up.”

“Or fucked someone?” Verona was sporting her usual teal slippers, leaning against the door frame.

Ian rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. “Both.” His eyes wandered the shelves, a white iced cake caught his eye. It read “Congrats on the Sex” in green icing. He pointed at it, looking at Ronnie in confusion.

She laughed, “I made it when you were out past your usual hours last night.”

He took it out, taking the clear cling wrap off. “Little morning cake never hurt anyone.” He said, taking a knife from a drawer.

“So, was she cute?” Verona asked, walking up beside him and taking the ‘X’ off of ‘Sex’ with her finger.

Ian paused. Yeah, Mickey was cute in that rough ‘fuck you’ kind of way. “Uh, yeah.”

She nodded and licked the green off of her finger. “Good fuck?”

He smirked, hearing Mickey’s moans and feeling the bruises on his shoulders. “Hell yeah.” He shoved a piece of chocolate cake into his mouth, causing his cheeks to puff out like a squirrel saving food for the winter.

Verona leaned a hip into the counter, facing Ian. “So how’d you fuck up then?” Her head fell to one side, awaiting Ian’s story.

Ian shook his head, mumbling around the cake and making himself sound like a deep voiced monster. “Asked him about his dad. Apparently has major daddy issues.” He rolled his eyes and waved the knife around a bit.

Ronnie paused, stopping her icing scavenging. “What?”

Ian swallowed and corrected himself. “She, uhm. I said _she_ had daddy issues.”

Ronnie straightened. “No. You said him and his. You can’t mess that up, Ian.” She poked his shoulder accusingly. “ _Ian.”_

Ian’s face went pink, his fingers messing with the cake knife. “Slip of the tongue.” He muttered.

She put a hand on his shoulder, “Ian… Ian, are you gay?”

He paused then smirked at his fan fiction writing roommate, “ _Gayer than fruit dipped in a rainbow_.”

A smile slowly spread her lips; she recalled her words about Alex from days before. She stuck her finger through the icing once more. “Knew it.”

He scoffed, “As if.”

“Oh, are we the best friends from _Clueless_ now?” She wiped the green icing across her tongue as he chuckled.

“Totally.” He put the wrapper back over the cake with a small smile and a roll of his eyes. “Hey, if we’re making each other cake whenever we get laid, you’re going to get diabetes!” He called as she walked to her room.

“Suck a dick!”

“Gladly!”

**

 _They’re practically married._ Ian flipped the photograph over in with a twist of his fingers. With the stars above, Carl and Bonnie lay on the roof of the rusted, permanent lawn fixture of the Gallagher backyard. Ian placed it back in the envelope and moved on to the next picture.

 _#Selfie._ He smiled at the picture on the other side; Debbie was smiling like everything in the world made absolute perfect sense, like Frank wasn’t passed out on the couch in the back of her “#Selfie.” Ian wondered if he was ever like that while he lived with his siblings- like nothing seemed to bother him at one point.

He clipped off a piece of tape with Verona’s _Hello Kitty_ scissors. He placed it on the top of the photograph and stepped closer to the pale blue wall on the right of his room. He smoothed down the tape with one finger, flipping the picture up and making sure he could still read Debbie’s bubbly cursive writing.

He stepped back, admiring his wall of Debbie’s photos. He couldn’t remember when it had started but he always took the time to tape his favorite pictures to his wall when Deb’s package came each month.

He flipped up one from the month before. _Fi’s new boyfriend. Remember, don’t hold onto this picture- it’s just gonna be a new guy next month!_ Ian smiled and sat on his bed, flipping through the new pictures. _Fi’s new boyfriend. What did I tell ya last month, huh? This one fixes computers._ He put the photo back in the envelope.

 _Frank quit drinking for a day!_ Frank and Debbie smiled up at him with the elephant exhibit from the zoo as their back drop. He rolled his eyes and went to the next photo. _No, seriously. He took us to the zoo._ A picture of Frank and Carl this time.

He flipped through the rest of the pictures, occasionally standing to put one up on the wall.

He reached the picture of Lip and Mandy. He brought the picture closer to his face. Even miles apart Lip was still one-up-ing him. He frowned and placed the picture beside himself, falling back on the bed.

How did Lip always do that? He got a Milkovich first- he knew Lip would bring it up one day. He was practically handed a spot at West Point on a silver fucking platter when he never had any intention of leaving the Southside. Ian was the one that wanted to leave. Ian wasn’t the one walking the grimy streets yelling ‘Southside Forever.’ Lip, the genius child, had bailed out of his senior year when Ian was struggling to pass as average. Ian would never admit it but for a genius, Ian thought he was the stupidest person he’d ever met.

Ian rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Lip had always been the favorite. Fi’s favorite, Monica’s favorite. Fuck, even Carl’s favorite big brother. Ian slapped at his cheeks lightly, attempting to get his hateful thoughts of Lip from his mind. He was pretty sure he was pulling a hardcore ‘ _Marsha, Marsha, Marsha.’_ He never liked it when he went _Brady Bunch_ over Lip.

But Lip had pretended to care when Ian went through his low... Had said “Well, you’re definitely Monica’s son now.”

Ian didn’t understand why Lip had treated him that way. He thought they were brothers. He thought that he being Clayton’s instead of Frank’s was a thing of the past. Weren’t they all Gallagher’s? Weren’t they all that special Gallagher kind of fucked up?

He rolled off his bed. “I’m goin’ out, Ron!”

Every time he got into this mood- the pissed of “Lip Mood.” Ronnie knew she should leave him alone. She knew that he would leave and just walk- walk until he opened the door of Java Jim’s.

**

Mickey wrapped the gauze around his arm, grumbling curse words and self- death wishes. He threw a long-sleeved work shirt over his head.

“Fuck.”

**

Looking back, Verona didn’t know why she was looking for Ian but she definitely remembers how she got distracted.

“Hi, I’m Mickey- what can I get you?” She could tell the dark haired guy was trying to be polite. Like every fiber of his being was screaming every second he fake smiled.

“Nothing. I was wondering if, uh- I’ve never seen you here before.” She smiled. Ian was forgotten.

He slumped; he was tired of this nice shit. “Just fuckin’ got the job. Order something or move the fuck on.”

She leaned across the counter. Hm, there’s just something about guys being jerks, isn’t there? “When do you get out of this shithole?” She reminded herself to never call Java’s a shithole ever again because Chris glared like she’d just drowned a baby.

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

She bit her red lips. “Seriously.”

He looked her over. Fuck it. If he wanted punish himself- how ‘bout he go for a Terry Milkovich classic? He untied his apron. “Now.”

“Mickey! You can’t just-” Mickey’s apron landed on Chris’s face.

**

He stood with his hands in his pockets while she unlocked the door to her apartment.

“Got roommates?” he muttered.

“Yeah. He doesn’t mind though.” She grabbed his collar and dragged him through the living room.

“He?” He said, his eyes scanning the random drawings and colored pencils that littered the coffee table. It reminded him of Ian.

“Mhm. He’s gay. Don’t worry about me having a boyfriend or anything.” Mickey bit his lip. Yeah, that’s what he was worried about. Surree.

**

Ian pushed open the familiar door, the familiar sent wall smacking him. “Hey, Chris. Seen Mickey?”

The barista rolled his eyes as he poured milk into a cup. “Yeah. He left in the middle of his shift with Verona.”

“Verona?” Ian’s heart pounded. How had she found him so quickly? He had only told her hours before that he was gay. She seriously needed to be a crime investigator. He shook his head as he left the shop, a smile pulling at his lips. God, she was always in his business.

**

His pulse was steady and he’d already found four imaginary creatures in the popped design of Verona’s ceiling. Oh- there’s a smiley face.

She sucked a bruise into his neck before sitting back with a pout. “Are you okay?” She played with her fingers, her pink lacy bra exposed.

He stayed speechless, running a hand up her thigh and her side till he reached her neck and pulled her lips to his.

She pulled back. “Are you nervous or something?” She wiggled her hips where she sat on his pelvis. “Because nothing’s happening.” He bit his lip. Verona noticed that if you stared hard enough you could see a slight dusting of freckles on his lips.

“I’m fine.” She ran a hand down his bare chest, nodding. “Just,” He let out a sigh. “Just wait a sec.”

She leaned down, kissing his neck lightly. “If you’re not up to it…” Her voice trailed.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He was such a fuckin’ pussy. God, if his dad saw him now- neglecting a beautiful girl practically forcing herself into his lap.

He’s mind traveled to Ian as she kissed toward his boxers. Ian’s lips that seemed to burn him worse than any flame. Ian’s touch that seemed to set his nerves on edge. Ian’s voice that seemed to make Mickey choke on moans when he spoke lowly in his ear.

Maybe if he just kept his eyes closed he could get through this. She brought his boxers down, tossing them over the side of the bed.

_Green eyes. Cocky smiles. He’s kind of a big deal._

She licked across his abdomen.

_Gold shorts. Strobe lights._

She grabbed at his flesh, thinking she was making his brain go a million miles a minute in the _right_ way.

_ALLYWAYS. RED HAIR. HOT CHOCOLATE. PRINCES. GREEN EYES. TEXT BOOKS. COCKY SMILES. IAN. IAN. IAN. IAN. IAN._

“M-mickey?” _Ian._

Mickey opened his eyes, head picking up from the pillows. There Ian stood, messenger bag on his shoulder, his jacket hanging from one arm.

“You know him?” Verona popped up.

“Yeah.” Ian frowned, his hand gripping the door handle. “He has daddy issues.”

Verona’s jaw went slack. “Oh, fuck. Ian, I didn’t know.”

Mickey’s pulse rose. No- Ian lost his cocky smile. His green eyes dimmed. He ran a hand through red hair, messing it up in an un-royal fashion. Ian turned around, shedding his jacket and bag as he angrily stomped off.

“No! Fuck, Ian! Wait!” He scrambled to push Verona off of him and grabbed his boxers off the floor.

He tripped while trying to run and put them on at the same time. He made his way across the apartment. “Wait, Ian!”

Ian had finally reached his bedroom door; he opened it then turned to Mickey, expecting something- maybe anything.

“Don’t.” was all Mickey could choke out.

“Don’t what?” Ian glared.

“Just-” he breathed out, sounding like a deflated balloon but instead of helium Mickey was full of words he’d never have the courage to say.

Ian pressed his lips together, making a face that almost said “that’s a damn shame” and slammed his door.

Mickey shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, attempting to push away the sting. Milkoviches don’t cry. Why didn’t Gallagher understand that not everybody gets to just blurt out how they fucking feel every minute?

Verona cleared her throat from feet away, she now wore Mickey’s long-sleeved polo and a pair of black lacey underwear.

Mickey ran his thumb over his bottom lip. _Great, now I gotta deal with her stupid shit before I deal with his stupid shit._

“So,” She dragged on the word then clicked her tongue awkwardly, her hands clasped in front of her. “You’re, uh, gay?”

Mickey tried to build the courage like he never could for his family. He threw his gaze in all random directions. “Yeah.”

She paused, nodding, her eyes downcast. “Why?” Her voice sounded choked.

Mickey’s eyes raised. How the fuck was he supposed to answer that?

“I don’t know? ‘Cause dick?”

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, why me?”

“Oh,” Mickey shrugged. “I may be gay but I’ll respect beauty.”

Her face seemed to almost crack open with the smile she beamed at Mickey then. She extended her arm to him, wiggling her fingers as a sign for him to take her hand. He bit his lip, trying to decide wheatear to knock on Gallagher’s door or take the beautiful Verona’s hand.

“Listen, I-“

“No, I’m gonna help you get him back, dumbass.” Verona grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of her room. She sat crisscross on the bed, laptop in front of her. Mickey stood awkwardly in the doorway, playing with his fingers and looking like a nervous teenager.

“What’s with the laptop?”

She stopped her typing to look up at him. “We’re gonna get him where he least expects it- in the feels.”

Mickey had no fucking clue what she was talking about but he figured to ignore it because this girl has lived with Ian for months, maybe she knew something about him that would help out with his apology process.

**

Ian felt like shit. No, not even. Ian felt like a 15 year old girl whose date to the dance just bailed for the hot cheerleader. But Ian wasn’t a girl, he was a man. And his date to his metaphorical dance of life was a fucked up, blue eyed barista- who’d apparently had a thing for female, fan fiction writing roommates.

When Ian finally heard the mummers of “just tell him I’m sorry” and “will do, Mick” he clutched his tan pillow over his face and let out a yell of frustration.

How could he have been so stupid? After the reaction Mickey had had at the club Ian should’ve known not to pursue him; not to push him into being what he wasn’t. Ian hated himself a little more because he knew the feeling of struggling to find yourself-especially in the Southside- but still he’d pressured Mickey a bit. Maybe he’d scared him off. Maybe Mickey wasn’t even gay and he’d slept with Verona to save himself from the memories of Ian’s lips.

Even with his face pressed into the soft fabric of a pillow, Ian could still feel the pressure of Mickey’s mouth on his. Could still feel the chills where Mickey kissed down his chest that night. The slide of tongue on skin, the feel of fingers pressing bruises into shoulders and hips.

 _No_ , Ian thought, _you can’t fake that._

_**_

_“No.” Alex gasped, grabbing for Graham’s limp hand. “You can’t leave me, fuck head.”_

_He wiped the warm tears from his face like they burned his cold skin. The snow fell around them._

_“Don’t.”_

Ian slammed his laptop shut. She killed him; that bitch. But still.. he couldn’t resist.. He reopened the laptop. He was currently wrapped in a comforter cocoon; the only thing lighting up his room was the blue tint of the computer screen.

_Alex’s mind clouded over. He was gone. No pulse. No life. No stupid smile that made him frown because it was so childish._

_He rose from the snow. Looking down at the heap of nothing. The shell of what something wonderful used to live in._

A notification popped up in the corner of Ian’s screen: _AlexChase21 posted ‘ Confessions of a Closed Coffee Shop.’ _Ian hesitated his cursor over Verona’s new one-shot. It seemed like a trap. He clicked.

_“I’m sorry.” Alex muttered. “I didn’t-” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to.”_

_“Save it, Alex.” Graham, leaned on the counter. “You fucked my roommate the day after being with me.”_

Ian’s face blossomed an angry red shade. “Verona.” He muttered through his teeth.

_“Graham, just please.” Alex put a to-go cup of hot chocolate on the counter. “What..” He hesitated. “What you and I have makes me free.”_

Ian’s breath caught. That was it. That’s all Verona wrote. “What the fuck?” He yelled into the direction of the other room. How could she end it there?

_Notes:_

_This was written for my friends Ian and Mickey- the Graham and Alex of the real word, tbh. Ian- hop your ass on over to the shop. Mickey’ll be waiting._

“You write the rest, idiot!” he heard through the wall.

He closed his laptop and tossed it to the side, throwing off his protective blanket. He threw open his door and shove his feet in his converse.

**

All the chairs were flipped up onto the tables, the lights were dimmed and no one was behind the counter. Ian didn’t want to call out Mickey’s name. He wanted to pretend like he was forced to be here by Verona.

“Ian.”

Ian looked beyond some of the tables to the farthest wall. The nook he sat in days ago was cleared except for a blanket and a jittery, nervous Mickey Milkovich sitting crisscross with two to-go cups in his hands. Ian knew it was hot chocolate- why wouldn’t it be?

“Hey.” Mickey mumbled, unsure of himself. He raised one of the cups with a weak smile.

Ian slowly moved toward him, not making eye contact. He sat down next to him.

“What happened?”

Mickey sighed. “It’s really fucked up.”

Ian took a sip from his cup, lying back and looking up at the stars through the skylight. “I knew it would be. You’re a Milkovich.” He sighed out.

“Shut up.” Mickey fell back next to him.

“I’m not that mad.” Ian said. “Verona’s hot.”

Mickey shook his head. “It’s not that. I have this… problem.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“No. A serious problem.”

Ian turned onto his side, nodding and giving him room to speak.

“My dad did horrible things to me. He engraved something into me. Like, a habit.”

Ian nodded.

A silence stretched out in front of them. Ian didn’t want to know what Mickey’s dad had done.

But if this was _Confessions of a Closed Coffee Shop…._ “I have problems too, ya know. But you’ve heard about them already.”

Mickey nodded as the stars overhead seemed to get brighter.

“Did you mean it?” Ian asked.

“Mean what?” Mickey turned his head.

“What you and I have makes you free?” Ian bit his lip.

Mickey thought back to walking through The Strobe- the feeling that bubbled up in his chest when he saw the other men, when he saw Ian on the platform, when Ian dragged him into the back ally.

Mickey leaned up on his elbow. He leaned down, hovering his lips over Ian’s. _Free. Unafraid_. He could do this. He pushed his lips lightly against Ian’s.

Ian wrapped his arms around the taped together barista. He may be difficult, and an asshole, and whole heartedly represent the place Ian has been running from his whole life, but Ian couldn’t help but want to run toward him and save him; be the one that tapes him back together. Just like he knew Mickey would for him; no matter where they were it’s like they both knew that when they had that clouded, creamer-being-poured-into-coffee state of mind they’d be the one to stir the spoon so they were properly mixed again.


End file.
